Shy Violet
by Sweet Little Mary Sue
Summary: A new girl has been brought into Arkham and catches the eye of a certain clown. It's maddening to him, his attraction to this little mouse of a girl, but for some odd reason he just can't seem to keep himself from becoming completely obsessed with her...Joker/OC.
1. I Want You To Want Me

Shy Violet

Sweet Little Mary Sue

Synopsis: A new girl has been brought into Arkham and catches the eye of a certain clown. It's maddening to him, his attraction to this little mouse of a girl, but for some odd reason he just can't seem to keep himself from becoming completely obsessed with her.

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Batman universe, but I have invited some of the characters over for a play date. I have always had a soft spot for the Joker, and after watching the amazing performance of Heath Ledger in _The __Dark Knight_, I fell head over heels for the Clown Prince of Crime.

Author's Note: My story idea is about as far from being original as you can get, but I hope that you will give it a read anyway. Everyone who has read my stories should be familiar with my "take a baddie and make him nicer" tendencies, so it goes without saying that the Joker will be toned down just a tad from his usual sadistic brutality. It will be a challenge for me to attempt to capture his wonderfully psychotic sense of humor, but please remember that I'm an amateur here.

Warning: This story will have gratuitous amounts of cursing, violence, sexual suggestions and/or innuendos and smuttiness, but no raping or beating of the female character (I have a difficult time writing that type of storyline).

Chapter One

I Want You to Want Me

Joker POV

I was so bored I could have cried...and I never cry. Every day it's the same monotonous garbage, spewed forth by the headshrinkers with their schemes to _rehabilitate _me. I can't figure out why everyone seems to think that I need to change. I, for one, think that I'm one of the few sane people left in this town.

The worst part of this entire stint at the loony bin had to be my seemingly endless cohabitation with Wilmer Haines, a momma's boy who murdered and decapitated his overbearing mother, following up his evening of slaughter with a passionate bout of lovemaking with the poor woman's headless corpse...yeech. Don't get me wrong, I love a good piece of tail as much as the next man, but your own mother? _After _you cut off her head...killing her dead as a doornail...then you want to put yourself inside her corpse? That's just too vile to contemplate, and believe you me; I have a very vivid imagination.

Every night Wilmer relived that last night spent in his mother's company, out loud for my listening pleasure. The liver and onions she had forced him to choke down, even though she knew it made him sick. The same damn lecture he heard every night about her witnessing him lusting after the next-door neighbor lady, who was a disease-ridden whore. On and on until Wilmer reached his bursting point, at which time he fled to the kitchen, fetched a butcher knife, and dispatched his cantankerous mother from the face of the Earth.

I won't assault your senses with the graphic descriptive of the...ahem..._mating_ that followed the murder, just bear in mind that you should pity me because I had to hear about it _numerous _times. I thought that our constitution protected us against cruel and unusual punishment, yet I was made to suffer unjustly on a daily basis.

Oh God...how did I get started on that unpleasantness again? I suppose my ramblings were connected to the fact that I finally reached the limit on my ability to stifle my, shall we say, _violent tendencies_ where irritating people were concerned. After listening to Wilmer ramble on night after night, making me seriously contemplate popping open a vein to alleviate my misery, I had finally just cut the annoying bastard's tongue out of his head. Let me tell you that shut him up right quick, save the gurgling screaming that spouted from a spot deep down in his throat.

I'm babbling like these loons that share my space, making a disgusting spectacle of myself while boring you with the inane details of my pitiful excuse for a life. When did everyone get so crabby in this town? Nobody knew how to take a joke anymore, especially that self-righteous scourge of criminals all throughout Gotham: Batty Bat Bat. I had expected him to provide me with countless hours of fun, and it saddened me to discover that he had some sort of honorable stick stuck up his hiney, which proved to have killed any trace of humor that may have rested within him.

Oh, what have we here? The guards were cleaning out the room next to mine, scrubbing it down, disinfecting every surface, taking enough care with the condition of the room to hint that someone of importance was joining our ranks, and wonder of wonders, they were going to be housed next to me. Maybe this place would prove to not be a complete waste after all.

I wondered if they'd even care if they knew that the smell of bleach made my head ache something awful. More than likely that knowledge would only inspire them to clean with pure bleach, straight from the bottle. I know their potential for cruelty; I recognized that right away, being a somewhat cruel person myself.

It took the doctors for-_ev_-er to arrive with their newest mental case, but the first sight of her proved that she was well worth the wait. She wasn't the type that would normally turn my head. I would have loved to play with her a bit on the outside, torment her a little, but the idea of an amorous liaison with her would have been out of the question.

I liked the bawdy and brazen girls for any type of sexual intimacy, the ones with the figure that would put a showgirl to shame, long legs and generous titties, and this little mouse didn't fall under any of that criteria. It was difficult to ascertain any detail of her figure with the hospital issue gown and pants hanging loosely about her, and she was walking along slowly, her face hidden by the folds of her long brown locks as she stared at the floor.

I wanted her to look at me, to show me her face, and I could feel resentment flooding me as she walked towards me, an incredible urge building as I fought back the desire to demand that she look at me. I didn't know why it was so important for me to look at her face, but I wanted to very badly. I pressed my hands against the metal of the door, my fingers curling helplessly, my face pushed up against the glass.

That got the attention of King, the biggest phlegm wad that lorded over the grounds of Arkham, head guard or some such nonsense. He was a big bruiser of a man and frequently used his size to intimidate some of the weaker inmates. His name was appropriate, due to his delusions of being the monarch of this hellhole, and his overly lacquered pompadour; which I had heard him state on more than one occasion made him a dead ringer for Elvis. Geez, it's dizzying to absorb the knowledge that nut jobs like him watch over the people who have been incarcerated in this dump due to their "insanity".

There I go, rambling on like a simpleton again. Now what was I talking about before I traveled along that train of thought...Oh yeah, Mr. King, the Arkham guard who has mistaken himself for being the sovereign of Arkham in addition to a deceased rock and roll legend. He took note of my more than likely gruesome face pressed against the window of my cell, and told me to back off. What did he think I was going to do? It's not as if I had the ability to just magically pass through walls, although with my record of escapes I could see where this would be a suspicion in their minds.

In the end, I was happy that I captured his attention, because when he yelled at me to back off, she looked at me, and that's when it happened. I felt the impact of her eyes on me, just like if someone had punched me in the stomach, and then the oddest warmth filled me from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet.

Her eyes were big and brown, and she stared at me in a way that said that she knew me, even though this was the first time that we had laid eyes on one another. I waited for her reaction of revulsion to my scarred visage, but no look of disgust ever traveled across her beautiful face. To be honest...I know that's got to be a shock...there was no expression whatsoever on her countenance. Her eyes were the only bit of life on her face, and they seemed to be staring into my heart, into the depths of my soul (yes, I still have one).

I wanted to ask her who she was and what she had done to warrant a visit to the whack shack, but the conversation would have taken place with King and Dr. Leonard as witnesses, and the last thing I needed was to have my words mocked and psychoanalyzed in turn. Dr. Leonard turned to look at me, and smiled in greeting, but I ignored her friendliness. I'm sure she truly believed in her quest to monitor and heal the crime ravaged minds of this institution, but I, for one, knew that her endeavor was fruitless, and the day would come, should she survive long enough, when she would grow just as jaded and soulless as everyone else in this hellhole.

They settled the little bit of loveliness into her room, and I overheard Dr. Leonard refer to her first as Miss Dean and later as Violet. How perfect that she was called Violet. First of all, she's obviously withdrawn, a true shy violet, and then there was the perfection of being named for a flower that was purple-blue in color…why it was almost as if she had been sent specifically for me.

King and Dr. Leonard didn't linger long after Violet was settled, thank God, which gave me the opportunity to chat with her a bit before bedtime. It was odd that she had arrived at this time of night, but you could never make any sense of what the people in charge did or said. If you want to know my opinion I'd say that they were all completely off their rockers, but who was I to make that sort of diagnoses?

I waited patiently...well, patiently for _me_ anyhow...to hear her moving around her cell, making herself feel at home, but I couldn't hear anything. No footsteps or running water, not even the groan of the bedsprings, which meant that she was just standing there. I wondered why it was that she wouldn't move, I mean didn't she realize that while she was in her cell she didn't have to follow anyone's orders?

It wasn't long before curiosity got the best of me, and I resorted to peeping at her through the opening that ran through both of our walls, on the ground, near the sink. If you're wondering how many times I have employed this hole to spy on the neighbors to my left, bear this thought in mind, most of my previous neighbors would make Ernest Borgnine look irresistibly sexy...yeech. So to answer your question, no, I usually don't peep at the person(s) housed next to me through this hole, but considering the sexiness of this neighbor, and my relentless curiosity as to what she was doing, or not doing so quietly in there, I dropped to the floor to have a look.

This hole provided a limited view into the shy one's new home, and all I could make out of her were her bare feet as she stood in the center of the cell. It would appear that she wasn't doing anything as she stood there, outside of staring at the door, and a part of me has to wonder if she's maybe a tad more unhinged than I would have liked her to be.

"Hey there girlie," I whispered softly, not wanting to alarm her. "They're not going to mind if you have a seat and make yourself comfortable."

Perhaps I spoke too softly, because she made no response whatsoever, and from what I could see, it looked as though she didn't even move when I spoke. "I said 'hey there girlie'," I repeated, making my voice a little louder this time. "You could sit down and get comfortable, you know, no one is going to stop you."

I watched eagerly as she finally reacted to my voice, keeping my eyes on her feet as she turned and walked over to where our common opening peeked into her cell. I realized belatedly that she might not respond well to the knowledge that I was watching her, and I waited for her to start screaming for the guards, or at the very least, to start cursing me, but no hysterics were forthcoming from her, and that was a definite relief for me.

I didn't know exactly what it was that I expected her to do at this moment, I suppose that my main desire was to have her return my greeting, but whatever it was that I was waiting for, I'm fairly certain that having her drop to the floor and stare at me through the hole was not on my list of possibilities.

Her eyes were even more penetrating up close than they were when I saw them from a distance, which made sense, but now her gaze seemed to be connecting in a way that made me feel a little weak in my knees.

I waited anxiously for her to speak, wanting to hear her voice more than anything, wondering if it would be a light and airy type of voice, or would it be more husky and sensual in tone? It seemed as though I wasn't meant to find out at that moment, because instead of responding verbally, she stood quickly, moving over to the bed, and grabbing something off of it. The something proved to be the large plastic containers given to all inmates, a box that we used to hold our possessions, and I watched as the box was lowered and placed against the wall, blocking both her and the cell from my sight.

There was no mistaking that message for anything other than what it was...a definite "piss off and leave me alone". I suppose it could only be summed up as her being very tired from the ordeal of being incarcerated in a loony bin, and nothing more, because surely I hadn't done anything to offend her this early in our acquaintance...had I?

Violet's POV

I didn't think that I was going to be able to sleep in this place. Hell, I figured that I'd be doing really well if I could manage to settle down long enough just to sit down in this place. It's almost as though the walls were breathing, maliciously waiting for you to drop your guard and trust them before they pounced on you.

Well, it's a good thing that no one could read my mind, or they would be gunning to have me treated as a person who was insane 24/7 as opposed to just finding me in that state temporarily. As if that weren't enough to keep me awake at night, I also had the additional freaky factor added in of having the Joker as my new next-door neighbor. That was just the dandy cherry atop the ironical sundae that I was being forced to dine upon. How could a person be expected to relax and become accustomed to their new surroundings with the knowledge that a crazy mass murderer was _right next door_?

He was so different up-close, nothing like I would have imagined he'd be. He was taller than he appeared to be on television, and as much as I hated to admit it, underneath that greasepaint, he looked to be very handsome as well. There was a lot of life in his dark eyes, a lot of manic energy as well, and his gawking had unnerved me more than I liked to admit. From the intensity of his gaze I would have sworn that he knew what color panties I was wearing, and as much as he'd unsettled me with his staring, there had been a zing of attraction as well.

As I had approached my cell, flanked by Mr. King and Dr. Leonard, I hadn't paid any attention to the surrounding cells, not looking up until Mr. King had shouted for someone to get back, and that was when I saw that he was watching me, was seemingly fixated on me, and I wondered what it was about me that captured his attention so thoroughly.

After the door of the cell had closed behind the doctor and the guard I stood in the center of my cell, frozen by the reality of what my life had become, and the knowledge that I would remain this way, locked inside this den of insanity for seven long years of my life. I suppose that this was a life lesson, meant to teach me that doing what you perceive to be the right thing can often retaliate by take a stinging bite out of your behind.

I couldn't say for certain how long I stood there, just staring at the door of my cell, before the clown next door decided to attempt communication with me. I ignored him to begin with, but it soon became apparent that he would persist with his 'hey there, girlies' until I responded, so I finally turned my attention toward him, feeling a jolt of shock as I noticed the hole in the wall, a peephole that allowed him to peer into my room.

I must say that he had a hell of a lot of nerve to be watching me like some sort of common pervert, which encouraged me to turn the tables on him. I lowered myself to the floor, taking great pleasure in the look of shock on his face that greeted me. It was then that I saw that he hadn't really seen much, looking in at me, considering that I couldn't see much of his cell from this point of view. More than anything, what upset me was that he would resort to spying on me, as if he had some sort of right to do so.

He didn't speak to me while we lay there, eyes locked on one another, and I realized that he was waiting for me to speak to him, to acknowledge the fact that he had greeted me and offered me a bit of advice. I found the advice to be optimistically ludicrous; I mean honestly, how could I ever be comfortable in these surroundings?

We continued to stare at each other, and the longer I connected with him, the more it seemed that an air of enchantment was forming around us, a sensation that I knew was both unwise and dangerous. I had experienced crushes on men in my life that weren't feasible, but this topped them all. It would be asinine of me to allow an attachment to form with this man, this murderer, this arsonist, this man that I knew, that everyone knew, was a complete and total psychopath.

I finally found the strength to tear my gaze away from him, rising to grab the storage box off of my bunk and I placed it in front of the hole, effectively sending a message that I had no desire to know him, although that was an out and out lie. I heard him muttering something, words that I couldn't make out, and it seemed like an eternity passed before he rose and moved away from the wall with a rather forlorn farewell of "Goodnight then, Shy Violet".

I felt like a complete jerk for just a moment, but then I remembered who it was that I had been rude to, and wondered why in the world I should feel guilty about hurting his feelings, after all, it wasn't as though he was some sort of innocent lamb, not with his record. I told myself that there was nothing for me to be ashamed of, but in the end I tiptoed over to the wall and removed my box, lowering myself to the floor to peer into his cell.

I couldn't see him anywhere, and suddenly the lights in our cells were doused, and I couldn't see anything then. My heart started to beat faster, and I cursed my damnable fear of the dark, a panic that had haunted me all of my life. I couldn't stand it much longer, lying on the floor, feeling the shadows pressing in on me. I felt the panic choking me and knew I couldn't wait for him to acknowledge me, so I made do with a quick "Goodnight Mr. Joker" before hurrying back to the safety of my bunk.

I waited to see if he would answer, and was just a little disappointed when he didn't speak to me. I turned on my side, my face to the wall, and that's when I heard the humming coming from his cell. I cuddled my pillow closer, trying in vain to find a comfortable space on the bunk, smiling as I recognized the tune of _Send in the Clowns_. I felt myself being lulled into sleep by his voice, "_Just when I'd stopped opening doors, finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours..._" The last thing I heard before sleep claimed me was his voice, traveling from the hole that connected our rooms.

"I don't want you to call me Joker," he whispered. "That name isn't meant for your lips. Call me Jack instead."

Disclaimer: _Send in the Clowns_ is a song written by Stephen Sondheim from the 1973 musical, _A Little Night Music_.


	2. I Need You To Need Me

Chapter Two

I Need You to Need Me

A/N: Thanks to all who have read the story and reviewed...praise always helps to fire my creativity.

Violet's POV

Two weeks had passed by since Arkham Asylum became my new home, and I had to wonder how time could have passed by so quickly and so easily when each second should have seemed like torture, each minute an eternity. I knew the reason for my time passing by swiftly and peacefully, and his name was Jack. It was so insane, which if you think about it makes sense, given my surroundings, but who would have ever thought that a girl could find a friend in this place, especially a friend who had the record that the Joker carried around.

He was always attentive to me, in spite of my reluctance to communicate with him to begin with. He would sit beside me at every meal and at our group therapy sessions. He seemed to enjoy being with me, but at the same time it seemed to irritate him as well. He seemed to be arguing with himself every day, about his reasons for being nice to me and the necessity of befriending me at such a crucial point in his planning, at least that's the gist of what I caught of his conversations with himself. I swear, when he did that sort of thing, having arguments with himself, he reminded me of the Sméagol/Gollum relationship in _Lord of the Rings_, and I was just waiting for him to refer to something as his "Precious".

I was sitting in my favorite place in the yard, beneath a solitary oak tree, its branches full of green leaves, providing a nice patch of shade that made the spot a good ten degrees cooler than the rest of the yard. I had a good viewpoint of my fellow inmates from beneath that tree, and it may have been bad of me to do so, but I took a great deal of pleasure from just sitting still and observing them and all of their little quirks. Some of my fellow loonies were scary, with the way they spoke, and the way that they acted, they were just plain creepy, and then there were the ones like Timmy, who had accidentally killed his little brother in an auto accident. They had to keep him doped to the gills at all times, because if he was allowed to become lucid he would remember the crash, and would immediately attempt suicide. As long as he was medicated, his pain was reduced to mere confusion, wandering the grounds with Joey's teddy bear, asking everyone that he saw if they had seen his brother, explaining that it was their bedtime. The most pitiful thing of all was that the accident had occurred thirty years before, but as far as Timmy was concerned, he was still sixteen years old, searching for his seven year old brother, taking care of him the way any good brother would.

Jack had offered up the idea that the headshrinkers ought to just let Timmy wake up from his drug induced state and allow the poor man to do himself in, and I had become very angry with him at the time for what I perceived to be a heartless attitude, but with each day that passed, I became more aware of what a kindness that would be for Timmy, to be freed from both this prison and also the one that held him captive in his heart and mind.

"Will you accept a present in exchange for your thoughts, pretty lady?"

I looked up at the familiar voice and saw his outstretched hand, and clasped gently between his thumb and index finger was an origami flower. He always brought me gifts, things that he would make for me in arts and crafts, or as he would say, "farts and craps". He had the sense of humor of a teenage boy, but I couldn't keep myself from smiling, regardless of the fact that I knew that my appreciation only served the purpose of encouraging him to be more and more crude.

"It's not exactly a violet," he explained, reaching down to tuck the flower behind my ear after I failed to take it from him as fast as he would have liked. "But the color is spot-on, my Dainty, and I thought, well I hoped, that you would like it."

I raised my hand to brush my fingertips gently against the intricately folded paper blossom. "I do like it Jack," I answered, smiling as I met his eyes. "It's a very beautiful flower, and you're right, the color is perfect."

That was enough to make him happy and he indicated with a wave of his hand that he wanted to sit down next to me, and I nodded to show him that I didn't mind. That was one of the things that I liked best about Jack, he didn't try to force me to talk to him. Everyone else wanted me to speak to them, they wanted a verbal answer for every question, and I found out quick that nodding or shaking your head did not count as communication with these people.

I noticed Jack watching me out of the corner of my eye, and I saw that he would raise his hand and reach it towards me before dropping it down to his lap at the last minute, and I could hear him muttering to himself about being stupid and that I wouldn't want him to touch me. It wasn't the first time that I had noticed him doing this, and I was torn on what I should do. He gave me the impression of someone who probably hadn't been touched in any way that could be called positive for the majority of his life, and more than likely he longed for that type of connection with someone. Of course, there was also the part of his personality that enjoyed being hit and feeling pain, but I decided that I would nourish his need for kindness, hoping to never have to witness firsthand his desire to cause and receive pain.

I turned to look at him, and felt the awareness of the effect I had on him as I heard him take a deep breath and watched the muscles working in his throat as he gulped, his tongue darting out of his mouth to brush across his lips. Mister King, the bastard who bullied all of the inmates, hated when Jack would do that with his tongue, positive that Jack was doing it to mess with him, but personally, it didn't bother me at all.

I reached down to take hold of his hand, running my fingertips along the tendons, turning it over to lightly explore the calluses on his palms. I loved his hands, loved to watch them when I was sure that he wouldn't notice. They were artistic hands, but they were also very masculine, strong and well-shaped, and had caused me to grow hot and bothered on more than one occasion, just from looking at them. This was the first time that I had touched them, and the feel of his skin against mine caused my nipples to tighten just a bit beneath the sensible cotton bra that I wore beneath my prison garb.

"Where do you want to touch me Jack?" I asked softly, taking note of the increased huskiness of my voice and the fact that I'd asked a very open-ended question. His breathing had quickened, and his eyes were alight with emotion, and I staggered a bit as I looked at him, taken aback, as always, to see the handsome face of the man that hid beneath the greasepaint that seemed to act as a security blanket against the rest of the world.

"Um...your hair...if that would be alright with you," he answered after a few moments, chewing on his lip nervously.

I raised his hand that I'd been exploring, placing it on the crown of my head, closing my eyes as his fingers slid gently into my hair, pulling the length away from my head, rubbing the texture between his fingertips. "It's just as soft as I knew it would be," he whispered, raising his other hand to join the first. It pleased me, to know that he'd thought of this, had thought of me, just as I'd thought of him, night after lonely night in my bunk.

It was hard to remind myself, at times like this, the identity of the man that I was currently crushing on. I had heard all of the horror stories about the Joker's exploits before I had come into this place, but I hadn't ever met the Joker, all I knew was Jack.

His fingers slid through the length of my tresses, finding the flesh of my throat behind the cascade of hair, and he lingered for just a moment, his eyes staring deeply into mine. I nodded my consent, knowing that was what he was wanting, and I felt my nipples tighten further as he fingers skimmed along my flesh, tracing along the underside of my chin. "Your skin is just as soft as your hair, my Dainty," he whispered softly, and I blushed as he leaned towards me, placing his nose against the flesh of my throat and breathing deeply.

It was a couple of days into our acquaintance that he began referring to me as his Dainty, and the nickname had confused me to begin with. I asked him what he meant for it to stand for, and he had answered that it was because I was so exquisite, of course, as though that should have been obvious to me. I had been told that I was pretty a few times in my life, once I had even heard the word beautiful connected to my name, but I couldn't recall any other time that someone had described me as exquisite, and let me tell you, it's pretty heady stuff, that type of knowledge.

"You always smell so good," he murmured, taking deep breaths, the warmth of his breath causing goose bumps to break out all over me. "How do you manage to smell so yummy in a hellhole like this?"

"I use some lotion that I brought in with me," I explained, my heartbeat accelerating as I felt his lips brush against my throat. "I like it because it has the essence of violet as part of the scent."

He giggled and brushed his lips against my neck once more, this time deliberately. "Sounds like they made it just for you," he said, drawing the scent deeply into his nose. "Mmm...you smell so yummy," he whispered once more.

I could feel myself growing more and more heated with each moment, the strong urge I felt for him a foreign emotion that was both exciting and frightening to me. I hesitantly placed my hand atop his as it rested on my throat. "You always smell good too," I said, hoping that I didn't sound like a complete boob to him. "Sandalwood is one of my most favorite scents."

I felt him stiffen against me, and he pulled away from me slowly and my breath got caught in my throat as I took notice of the hostile look on his face, thinking that I must have really upset him. Then I noticed that his look wasn't directed at me, but rather at someone standing behind me. I turned to see Mr. King watching us interestedly.

"Well now, isn't this a regular Hallmark moment," he cackled. "I found me a secret romantic intralude under the old oak tree between a loony clown and his two-bit whore."

Jack's eyes narrowed first with anger, and then he snorted with laughter, shaking his head at King. "The correct word is _interlude_, King, _in-ter-lude_."

King's face quickly lost its smile as he hauled Jack roughly to his feet, using his baton more forcefully than he was supposed to, as was his habit. "You better heed that fucking lip clown boy," he hissed, drawing Jack up toward him until Jack was balanced on his tiptoes. "It just might get you killed one of these days."

He released his hold on Jack, causing him to stumble backward, and I shot to my feet to steady him. King had a self-satisfied smirk on his face and I had no doubt that he would pass this tale around the guard room, parts of it altered so that he would always be the smarter, the stronger and the one with the sharpest wit. The guards regarded Jack the way a group of boys might regard a junkyard dog. All were scared of the beast, all of them told tales of its ferocity, and all tried to be the one with the tale to beat all tales, the one who effectively subdued and humiliated the animal that scared them so badly.

"You and your little whore just lost the rest of your yard time with this infraction clown boy," King sneered. "You're both going back to your cells now for a little cooling off."

He reached down to take hold of Jack's arm, but Jack pulled away from the guard roughly, causing the jackass to stumble a bit. I choked back a giggle, expecting Jack to laugh as well, but the look on his face had nothing to do with humor and everything to do with rage.

"Are you going to turn this into an issue, freak?" King asked, grabbing for Jack's arm once more. "I'm begging you to give me cause to wipe the ground with your scrawny ass."

He was so assured of his right as the dominant one that it made for a very comical expression to take hold of his face as Jack flipped him to the ground, quite easily, banishing any doubt about Jack being scrawny. He placed his knee against King's throat, and I panicked as I heard the alarm bells ringing and the shouts of the other guards as they ran towards us.

"You owe the lady an apology Mr. King," Jack hissed, pressing more of his weight against the guard's throat. "It was very ungentlemanly of you to malign her good name with such a vile insult."

I suppose that it was behavior that would have me branded as a loon, or at the very least, a ninny, but my heart swelled just a touch when I realized that his hostility was for me, for my honor. It didn't stop the guards from dragging Jack off of King viciously, allowing the humiliated guard to land a few punches before Dr. Leonard arrived and took command. It didn't keep us from being disciplined by being restricted from dinner that night, if that could actually be considered punishment.

What it did accomplish was to fortify the bond that had been forming between us, and to settle in my mind that despite his previous actions and crimes as the Joker, there was no harm, and no shame to be found in my blossoming affections for the man that he was now.

Jack's POV

It was inevitable, three o'clock on the dot, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, we were herded into the supposedly cheerful yellow room to share our madness with our fellow cuckoo's...inevitable and _mandatory_. Nothing short of death would excuse you from attending, and even then they would probably wheel your corpse into the room, coaxing your lifeless husk to open up and share its innermost feelings with the rest of the group. It would be a horrifically boring experience for your dead body, but I would imagine that it would perk the other loonies up more than ten rounds of electroshock therapy.

Every week, when I was called on by Dr. Leonard to impart some horrific detail of my life for the enjoyment of the group I declined, earning myself an even longer stint in this laugh factory, and would tell the good doctor that I was of the opinion that given the success rate of our little group, it would be in our best interest, not to mention that of Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Taxpayer to invest in some good aromatherapy, because this psychotherapy usually led to unintentional hypnotherapy. As you can imagine, these remarks didn't go over well with Dr. Leonard, and had earned me several "I'm disappointed in you" looks, but they had earned me the faithful adoration of my fellow nut jobs, and really, what more could anyone ask for than to be adored by the criminally insane?

The only ray of sunshine in an otherwise dreary existence was my Dainty little girl, as always. She sat beside me in group therapy, turning to smile at me every so often, her presence calming me more than any psychotropic drug ever could. Our relationship had developed nicely these past two weeks, and I just had to remind myself to take things slow, not to rush her or scare her away. I'm sure that she assumed that I was simply playing with her to begin with, tormenting her for my own sick pleasure, but after a slow courtship of gifts and pleasantries, she seemed to trust me, and to be eager to return the affections that I felt for her.

I watched her from the corner of my eye as Nicky, the whiny arsonist who had roasted his family in lieu of the traditional turkey three Thanksgiving's ago droned on and on about how no one understood him, no one loved him...blah, blah, blah. How could I have ever been crazy...heh, heh...enough to prefer plastic bodied, soulless shells of femininity over this beauty that was sitting beside me? Granted I had only known her for two weeks, but in that short amount of time I had come to realize that there was a lot to be said for natural splendor.

Her breasts didn't look to be anywhere close to the double-d mark, although it was difficult to get an accurate reading due to the bagginess of her prison issue top. I would be willing to bet that her breasts were just the right size, the size that would fit snugly into the palms of my hands, and that they were tipped with dusky rose nipples that would harden and grow as I massaged them with my tongue...oh great...another erection in group therapy, right there for anyone and everyone to see. Why can't I control my thoughts and keep them from traveling down the "completely inappropriate at this time" path?

Violet turned to look at me, more than likely she had noticed my total lack of concentration where the babbling idiots were concerned. She smiled at me briefly, drawing my lust addled mind to the fullness of her lips, imagining first a rather tame experience...kissing her for the first time, and then straight in to the hardcore porn as her plump lips encircled the head of my...no, no, no! I had to take my mind out of the gutter, and back to where Violet wasn't playing a leading role in every sweaty, smutty fantasy my depraved mind could dredge up.

I returned the smile, along with a little wink, and my smile grew as she blushed and returned her eyes to the continuing melodrama of Nicky, the whiny pyromaniac, crossing her legs like any proper lady would. Unfortunately for me, this drew my attention to what I was sure would prove to be a remarkable set of gams, were I ever given the chance to admire them. She was pretty short, which meant that they wouldn't go on for miles, as I would have preferred in the past, but I would wager a good amount that they would be curvy, with baby soft thighs, and that they would feel wonderful wrapped around my waist as I plunged into her, harder and harder until she...

"Perhaps you'd care to share something with us now Jack." Dr. Leonard's voice broke through the holds of my fantasies, thank God, returning me to the present where I was in a yellow room...urine yellow, to be exact...surrounded by the other groupies, sitting beside my sweet Dainty, and all those eyes, twenty pair in all, were trained on me.

"Share something?" I replied, my mind still fuzzy from the onslaught of lustful images that had been occupying the majority of my brain functions.

Dr. Leonard looked exasperated, a common expression for her whenever she was dealing with me. "Yes, Jack," she replied. "This is group time right now, and it would be the polite thing for you to share with us, and pay attention as we share with you."

She was doing it again, provoking me, knowingly pushing me; although I had made myself very clear on how much I despised her saying that. "Don't call me Jack," I hissed, feeling my body tense, every muscle tightening. "I hate that name coming out of your mouth, and you have no right to say it!"

She had the audacity to look like I had offended her, even though she knew my feelings on that subject, even though I had asked her nicely...countless times...to not address me as Jack. Every crazy in the room was offering me their undivided attention now, and Violet was among those who were staring at me. I waited to see if she would look offended or disgusted, but in the end she merely smiled at me and patted me on my hand.

That bit of comfort didn't escape Dr. Leonard's eagle-eyed stare, and she turned her censorious gaze in our direction, the bitter gaze of a dried-up old maid who had probably never even been kissed, let alone shagged. "Well, I suppose that I will just have to mark you down as uncooperative," she said, like that was a big surprise to me or anyone else in the room. "Perhaps Miss Dean would favor us with an anecdote instead."

I felt Violet stiffen beside me, and cursed Dr. Leonard. She had left my Dainty alone up until this point, and I knew that the only reason that she was singling her out now was because she was a vindictive hag underneath all of that _We are the World_ crapola that she projected to everyone else. "I don't have anything that I'd like to share right now," Violet answered.

Dr. Leonard's face took on a look that was almost serpentine in nature, making me wonder how she could have crossed over so completely to the dark side in such a short amount of time. Where had the wide-eyed doctor, eager to help the weary and downtrodden crazies navigate the world disappeared to?

"If you refuse to participate in group therapy I will have to mark you down as uncooperative," she explained. "And if I mark you down as uncooperative, you will leave the officials with no other choice but to lengthen your sentence."

I'm sure that Violet knew that just as well as the rest of us did. Hell, I'd had an additional twelve years tacked on to my bid already. She still looked frightened by the prospect of extra time however, and leaned back in her chair, taking a deep breath as she did so.

"What do you want to know?" she asked quietly, her voice flat and her face devoid of all emotion.

"Whatever you would like to share," the good doctor replied all sweetness and light once more.

"I already said that I didn't have anything I wanted to share," Violet said, her anger betrayed by just the tiniest quiver in her voice.

Dr. Leonard looked at her, eyes narrowed, "That's not our general policy here, Miss Dean," she answered. "But if this is the only way to get you to open up, I'm sure that I can waive policy this one time. Why don't you tell us about Anthony Rizzuto?"

Violet stiffened even more beside me, a helpless whimper escaping her. I was seized by a nearly uncontrollable need to pick her up in my arms and flee, but I knew that we'd really get nailed by that turd King if I were to try.

"He dates my older sister Poppy," Violet answered, the quiver in her voice becoming stronger. "He's the reason that I'm in here."

I had to admit that I was wanting her to continue at this point, having always wondered what my Dainty had ever done that warranted her being sent to the pustule on the backside of humanity, otherwise known as Arkham Asylum.

"You said that he dates your sister Poppy," Dr. Leonard continued, recognizing the blood in the water, a sign that her prey was weak and vulnerable. "Isn't it true that he's married, had been for twenty years, and that he's actually having an affair with your sister?"

Violet took a deep breath, anger beginning to build alongside her pain. "Yes that's true. It's also true that I maimed his manhood and tried to kill him. Just like it's true that he raped her, and that I was trying to save her!" She was in tears by this time, which counted as bonus points for good old Dr. Leonard.

"And after all that sacrifice on your part, she testified against you, isn't that right?"

Man oh man, just when I thought that I had problems and issues with trust, I found out that this had happened to Violet. No wonder she didn't trust anyone, hell, who would after something like that? Dr. Leonard announced that we had reached the end of our time together, now once she had decimated my Dainty, had drawn a good amount of blood in the process as well.

The doctor liked for us to stop and chat on our way back to our cells, but I avoided her. First of all, I wanted to catch up with Violet who had shot out of the room as fast as she could, and secondly, I couldn't trust myself to not break the hag's face were I to get close to her.

Violet had made it back to her room before I could catch up with her, and I entered my own cell feeling rather forlorn, wishing that I could go into her room with her, wishing that she would let me hold and comfort her. In the end I made do with the best that I had to work with, lying down by the hole in my cell, humming to her, my heart breaking as I listened to her sob.


	3. I'd Love You To Love Me

Chapter Three

I'd Love You to Love Me

Violet's POV

There were two life lessons that I had learned the hard way. The first was that memories were more often cruel than not, and the second was that you couldn't trust anyone, no matter how much you wanted to. Well no, now that I think about it, I knew that I could trust Jack; at least I knew that I wanted to. I could trust a man that I had known for two weeks, but not members of my own family, people that had the same blood coursing through their veins as I had in mine…that was really sad, wasn't it? No, they couldn't be trusted, their loyalty was capricious, and turned in the direction that paid the highest price.

We were supposed to be different from the rest of them, Poppy and I, we were never going to treat our babies the way our parents treated us. We had held tight to one another all of our lives, Poppy watching over me, her kid sister, and I had foolishly believed that things would never change.

I was twenty years old, and Poppy was thirty when things had started to change. Our mom and dad were always in search of the bigger, better deal, leading my dad to set out to make the acquaintance of Anthony Rizzuto, a man who was well-known throughout our old neighborhood as a tough with a lot of money. He had everything that any man could want, and he also had the world at his fingertips...well, our corner of it, at least.

Dad had started doing "odd jobs" for Mr. Rizzuto, and moved up quickly through the ranks. He and mom had a swell time swanking themselves around with all the extra cash that dad was bringing in, and I'd been disgusted with both of them, and had foolishly assumed that Poppy shared my opinion of their lifestyle.

We had both dreamed of the day that we'd have babies of our own, and Poppy had started to obsess over when her chance would come, swearing that she could feel her clock ticking like mad. Unbeknownst to me at the time, she had started to resent me, to feel bitter about my youth, and that she began to hate me, to see me as still having the chance that was slipping through her fingers with each day that passed. Had she shared these feelings with me I would have done my best to remind her that she was only thirty, and that thirty was still very young, but she never gave me the chance. She had started talking about me behind my back, complaining to anyone who would listen, that I had ruined her chance for happiness because I was a cocktease, enticing every man who'd ever wanted her away with the promise of younger and more exciting pussy.

I remember the day that she had said that to me, how much she hated me, and how I was nothing but a tease, and for some reason the accusation of being a tease had hurt just as much as the "I hate you" had. Hell, I was a virgin...I still am...and I was largely ignored by men. A few had asked me out on dates but would be chased away by my family if they got too close to actually liking me. I suppose it had more to do with my tendency to be asked out by cops and other public servants that fueled my family's quest to drive them away, as opposed to them not wanting me to date; at least in as far as my mom and dad were concerned.

I wondered how they'd respond to my Jack, were they to ever visit, which I suppose would be possible, right around the time that Hell froze over. He was a man who had commanded a lot of power, had earned respect in the form of fear from powerful people. He had an impressive résumé, or rather, he _had_ been in possession of one, but I knew they'd look at him and see the grease paint, the green rinse in his hair, the scars, and they'd declare that he was just a freak who had grabbed hold of the reigns for a short while. They would say that he was better off behind bars, and that the world was a better, and safer, place with him out of it. Of course, they'd finish up their speech with an observation that he was just the sort of man who would be attracted to a woman like me, and then they'd all have a good laugh...the bastards.

Anthony Rizzuto was the perfect man for their girl Poppy, the blonde and beautiful daughter, and it wasn't any concern of theirs that he was married and had children. They had pushed Poppy off on him, and Poppy had been dazzled by his wit, his charm, his looks...and his promise to knock her up and take care of both her and the baby, once he'd left his wife, of course.

Days had become weeks, weeks had turned into months, and two years passed by as my sister remained the piece on the side for Anthony Rizzuto, while his wife gave birth to their third lovely little girl. Poppy was in very bad shape by this time, with a bottle of Wild Turkey acting as her constant and most faithful companion. No baby was placed in her womb, and her demands for Tony's love and attention were neglected more and more until she became the punch line of all the jokes passed around the social clubs that Tony and his goons frequented.

Dad had demanded that my sister have a little dignity, and to let go gracefully. Both he and my mother were disappointed that Poppy had grown boring for Tony, that she hadn't been able to sway his marital intentions her way, which would have set them up for life. They had still regarded Poppy as being good enough to speak to, but that had changed when Tony showed up with his new acquisition, a brand-new model that at eighteen was fourteen years younger, and a hundred times more predatory than my sister had ever dared to be.

My parents considered it to be the biggest disappointment of their lives, my big sister's failure, well, second biggest after the fact that I had been born, and had immediately turned their backs on her, cutting her out of their lives completely. I had tried to fill the void in her life, had tried to be the security that she so desperately needed and wanted, but I hadn't been able to care for the deep wounds in her heart. She drank too much, she was always drunk, and then that horrible night had happened, the night that had landed me here, that had changed my life forever.

"Miss Violet," a strange voice beckoned me from the hall, an unfamiliar woman's face was pressed against the door of my cell. "Miss Violet, my name is Hattie Cooper, and Mr. Henry sent me here to speak with you."

Henry Hale was my attorney, a good man who had done everything in his power to see that I received a trial that was somewhat fair. I realized with a start that Hattie was the lady who cooked and cleaned for him, and I wondered how she had ever managed to make it in here, past all of the security.

"Hattie, how did you ever get in past King and his flunkies?" I asked, walking toward the door, my heart in my throat as I calculated the repercussions, if were we to be discovered.

"Don't you worry any Miss Violet," she answered, smiling slyly. "I got a job down in the kitchen as _Hazel_ Cooper. Mr. Henry sent me in here undercover to give you a message."

It tickled me, her enjoyment of her role as the secret agent sent in with a top-secret message, but then I took note of the worry that came into her eyes, and I knew that the message wasn't a good one.

"What is it Hattie?" I asked anxiously. "Why have you and Henry gone to such a risk for me?"

"Mr. Henry heard from a reliable source that they are going to come after you tonight Miss Violet," she answered, her eyes filling with tears. "That Rizzuto snake made a deal with Mr. King and they're going to come after you and force themselves on you, both Mr. King _and_ his cronies."

I felt an overwhelming urge to faint and vomit at the same time, but knew that now wasn't the time for me to fall apart, not if I wanted to survive and make it till morning with my life, with my dignity, and my virginity intact. The more I thought about it, what those bastards intended to do, the angrier I became, until the fear subsided a little.

"I've got to go now Miss Violet," Hattie's voice broke into my thoughts once more. "My shift is over and they'll get suspicious if they see me hanging around up here. Promise me that you'll be on your guard, and try to find something, anything, to defend yourself with."

I thanked her as she turned to leave, throwing one last frightened look over her shoulder, and my mind started racing. What could I use as a defense against a group of rapists? I wasn't in possession of anything that I could use as a weapon, and tears welled up in me as I realized the hopeless situation that I had been placed in.

King's voice rang out in the corridor, startling me to the point that I nearly screamed. I heard him open the door of Jack's cell, delivering him back from his arts and crafts activities, and he stepped over to my door for a moment, leering at me and then blowing me a kiss. I would have liked to had the opportunity to punch him, or spit in his face, but the glass and metal of the door hindered me, and I also didn't want to do anything that might make him suspicious as to my knowledge of his plans for me later that night, and so I made do with ignoring him.

I heard Jack shuffling around in his room, whistling cheerfully, and then he dropped to the hole between our rooms.

"Hey there, sweet thing," he greeted me warmly. "How's my dainty little girl this evening?"

I hesitated for just a moment, hating to involve him, knowing that I would more than likely be getting him in trouble, but then it dawned on me that I did have protection against King...I had my Jack.

I dropped down to the floor, and his smile disappeared as he saw the petrified look on my face. "What happened to you Violet?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm in trouble Jack," I answered, my voice trembling from the force of my fear. "I need your help."

Jack's POV

My head was spinning from the conflicting emotions racing through me as my Dainty filled me in on the dilemma that she found herself in, a little act of revenge on Rizzuto's part, to be carried out by King and his band of thugs. The primary emotion was rage, which was understandable, considering the fact that there was a plot being carried out by a group of guards to gang rape Violet. I was also filled with a sense of elation, which may seem odd to you, but before you judge me, please allow me to explain myself.

I had been doing my own fair share of plotting this past week, and everything had been put in place for my escape, and I had just been working up the nerve to ask my Dainty to accompany me, knowing that the odds that she would want to cast caution to the wind and take up with a mass murdering psychopath weren't very high in my favor. It probably made me seem loony...heh, heh...but I was almost relieved to have a life and death scenario occur which would serve the purpose of necessitating her to flee with me.

The look of shock that washed over her face when I picked the lock and strolled through the door of her cell like a man without a care in the world would have amused me at one time, but now it just hastened me to comfort her, to make her see that everything was going to be alright. I may have changed somewhat during this visit at Arkham, but an old habit like lock picking still proved to be a very valuable asset, and this had been the first opportunity that presented itself in a long time.

I explained to her that I had gotten a message through to a man who was working for me before lights out, who had been hired as a guard, and that he would be entering her cell tonight, with King and his flunkies, and that he would help me to incapacitate the would-be rapists and that was when I would detonate the charges that Wonko, my plant who was working as a guard, had placed around the asylum for me a couple of days ago. The explosion would provide us an opening through which we would escape, and there was a car waiting for us a half mile away to offer us transportation for a speedy getaway.

I waited anxiously for her response once I'd finished exhaustively detailing my plans to her. She seemed more than a little shocked by what I'd said, but she didn't appear to be angry, or disgusted, and my mood was bolstered slightly by the absence of obviously negative responses from her.

"Please come with me, Dainty," I whispered softly, stepping close to her and laying my hand against her back. "Say that you'll run away with me."

She still didn't answer me, which I suppose wasn't an entirely bad thing, since it meant that she wasn't saying no, although she wasn't saying yes either. I rubbed my hand against the small of her back, feeling the muscles that had tightened there, and she arched herself forward, moaning in a way that grabbed complete control of my manhood. I knew that her response was more than likely due to the fact that she needed a backrub, a gentle massaging to muscles that were being knotted by the tremendous stress that she was laboring under, but I allowed the sound to mean more to me than that.

I continued the massaging, alternating between using my knuckles and my fingertips, and was pleased to find that I had her purring from my touch, arching her body, a satisfied hum from the depths of her throat emanating outward until she resembled a kitty cat that was enjoying a good rubdown. I moved my hands slowly, crossing one over the other as I drew her up into my arms. I was afraid that maybe I was pushing things too quickly, but in the end she went willingly, maybe even eagerly, into my embrace.

It felt so good to hold her, and to be held in return, a sensation that I had never thought about very much in the past. Of course, there was the added benefit of feeling her breasts pressed tightly against my chest, and believe me when I say that it was a very...um, _stirring_...experience. The best part however, was the way her arms raised up to twine around my neck, her small hands delving into my hair. I nearly whimpered from the comfort that she was bringing to me, this newfound source of peace that she had inspired in me since we had met.

"Won't you come along with me sweet girl?" I whispered in her ear, holding her as tightly as I dared. "I promise that I'll keep you safe, and I swear that I'll make you happy."

I heard her breath catch in her throat, and I worried for a moment that I had pushed her too far. The bad thing was that I couldn't stop myself, not now that I had come this far. "I know that you might not feel the way that I do, Dainty," I murmured, pulling away from her warmth very reluctantly. "But I want you to feel this right here," I continued, grabbing her hand and placing it against my chest. "That thump, thump, thumping feeling there...that belongs to you, and as long as it's beating, as long as I'm breathing, it belongs to you and only you."

She raised her face up to look at me, and I saw that there were tears brimming in her eyes, and my heart fell, thinking that I'd just made a complete fool of myself. She was probably crying because it was painful for her brain to come up with a suitable rejection, and I braced myself for the worst, hoping that I wouldn't further my humiliation by sobbing when she told me to get lost.

But then she smiled that sweet bashful smile that I felt belonged especially to me, because I'd never seen her smile that way at anyone else. She reached down and took hold of my hand, raising it to place over her heart, while I chanted an internal mantra of "don't grope her boobs...don't grope her boobs" to myself. This was too special a moment to ruin by feeling her up.

"Mine's thumping pretty hard as well," she whispered, bending her head to kiss the back of my hand. "If you are wondering who it is that it beats for, maybe you should have a better look around this room."

I wanted to look at her some more, she looked so damn pretty at that moment, but I did as she asked, wondering what it was that I could have missed. Then I saw the origami that I had made for her, the swan and the flower, and I saw the tacky macaroni necklace, painted purple and adorned with gold glitter, that she had laid across the doily on her dresser, when most others would have either thrown it away, or at the very least, hidden it from sight.

The wrapper from every piece of Super Bubble that I had ever given her was stored in a neat pile, and propped on the table beside her bed was a picture of me, something she must have drawn herself. I was standing in the sunlight, my head tilted back, with my eyes closed. She had captured the green rinse in my hair, the startling white, black and red of my war paint, and she had captured each of my scars, all shockingly hideous to behold, but she had managed to make my face look beautiful, for lack of a better word, and I knew that she had to really care for me to see that sort of splendor in my face.

"I have to say that it seems as though you've developed a bit of an obsession where I'm concerned, my Dainty," I murmured, my emotions swelling up and ruining my intention of sounding slightly sarcastic.

"That's true," she whispered, kissing the back of my hand once more. "And if you still want me to go with you, then my answer is most definitely yes."

I could have whooped with joy, she was going to leave with me...she _wanted _to leave with me. I stifled my urge to shout, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that I was out of my cell, having picked the lock, and that I was now in her cell, another lock that had been picked, and that I was lying in wait for that King bastard to appear with his band of raping thugs. It had been a while since I had been given the opportunity to carry out violence against someone, and no one deserved a good lesson in manners more than Mr. King.

"Of course I still want you to go silly," I told her, pulling her by her hand so that we could crouch down beside her bed. "It's time for us to hide right now. King will be along in another ten or fifteen minutes, and after he's been dealt with we'll blow this loony Popsicle stand."

She giggled at my words, pressing herself close to me while we hid. I held her near and prepared myself for the approaching fight, reminding myself again and again to keep it as clean as possible, having no desire to scare Violet with my sadistic side.

Violet's POV

Jack had relocked the door when he came in, as he had locked his own, knowing that King would check to make sure that there wouldn't be any loose ends. Through the dim light that filtered into my cell from the moon I could see that the door was being unlocked, and then it swung open silently. Based on the shadows that had entered my room, King had brought three other guards with him, all with the purpose of dishonoring me, and I thanked God that I had Jack with me. One of the guards was Wonko, someone who was on our side, but that left a total of three bruisers that would need seeing to.

They walked toward my bunk, where I was supposed to be sleeping, missing the shadowy form of Jack as he circled around behind them. A beam of light traveled over my empty bed before finding me crouched on the floor, and they laughed as they looked at me, and I would imagine that I probably resembled a cottontail bunny facing down a snarling pack of hungry coyotes.

"What are you doing on the floor, you loony bitch?" King appeared to be drunk, weaving back and forth, and being held upright by his buddies, well two of them at least. "Get on that damn bed and spread your legs for me, whore. I got a gift from Mr. Rizzuto to deliver to you."

I took a deep fortifying breath, pushing myself up to my feet. "I have a better idea Mr. King," I replied. "Why don't you and your buddies go suck each other off and leave me alone? I'm kind of tired right now and don't have the time, the patience, or the gag suppressant necessary to accept you raping me."

"You mouthy little slut," he hissed, steadying his hand, raising it and bringing it down hard on my cheek, causing my head to snap backward painfully. "Just for that I'm going to hand you a beating after I'm done fucking you. Collect a little interest on that debt you owe Anthony Rizzuto."

In spite of the fact that Jack, as well as Wonko, were there to deal with King and his buddies, I couldn't help but feel fear take hold of me as I watched the bastard move closer to me, his hand going to his belt buckle, unfastening it, smiling malevolently.

"Ah ta ta...back up there your highness or I'll raise your voice an octave or two."

Nothing in my life had ever sounded as sweet as Jack's voice, emerging from the darkness in the corner of my room, and the look on King's face was absolutely priceless as he put two and two together, realizing that the odds had just turned a good deal in my favor.

He was still stupid enough to be confident in the superiority of numbers however, and he called for his men, Leon, Otis, and Willard, to advance. His men didn't answer, the only sound in the room was an electric crackling, and King turned to see Leon and Otis writhing in pain on the floor, the pegs from Taser guns embedded deeply in the flesh of their backs. Willard was standing over them, a Taser in each hand, and I laughed as King lost control of his bladder, acrid urine spilling forth to dampen the legs of his trousers.

Jack walked towards the dethroned King of Arkham, and reached into his pocket, emerging with a knife. The blade snapped open, glinting in the sparse light of the moon, and Jack raised his knife to run the blade almost lovingly over King's face.

"Oh Mr. King," he sighed. "There's nothing as sad as when a kingdom falls. I should know, after all I was once graced with a royal title of my own."

He traced along King's eyes and then his lips with the tip of the knife, giggling as the guard whimpered with fear. "In the past I would have just killed you...performed a public service you could say...by putting a rabid dog out of its misery. But I'm a changed man now, and I just have one thing that I need to do."

He placed his hand on King's shoulders, smiling at the guard's terror, and with a resounding crack brought his kneecap up into the squishy softness of King's balls, causing the man to wail with agony as he dropped to the floor of the cell. Then Wonko pulled something that resembled a remote out of his pocket and pushed the red button.

The wall across from our cell shattered and fell, revealing a crack that went through both the inner and the outer wall, which was housed next to a low walled enclosure, and with a word of thanks to Wonko, Jack grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the cell, toward freedom. I stopped, turning back to grab the flower that he had made for me, and the portrait that I had drawn of him before grabbing his hand once more, making a run for it as the sirens wailed and the search lights brightened. I should have been reluctant, I should have been terrified, but I felt exhilarated...I felt _free_…for the first time in my entire life.


	4. I'm Begging You To Beg Me

Chapter Four

I'm Begging You to Beg Me

Jack's POV

Somewhere in this dump that we're shacked up in for the time being, a faucet is dripping, keeping me awake, but every time I go check, there's no evidence of malfunction with any of them. I'm afraid that the constant drip, drip, drip is going to wake up Violet, and if she wakes up she might realize that she's all snuggled up with me, her leg thrown over the top of mine, and a sense of propriety might influence her to return to her own side of the bed. I can't let that happen, not until I've basked in this sensation for the rest of the night, with her arm thrown over my chest, her t-shirt ridden up high on her body to reveal her panties, and the torturous warmth of her femininity burning itself against my thigh.

I'm happy to learn that she is the cuddly type in bed, because I have a feeling that I'm going to enjoy being cuddled. This whole _intimacy _thing is new to me, but I've always been a quick learner, when properly motivated, that is. She is an affectionate woman, despite the lack of warmth that I imagine she experienced with her family and I am more than ready to fulfill any emotional needs that she has.

I'm tempted to place my hand on the curvilinear fullness of her bottom, to test whether it feels soft and lush, or if it's actually more muscular than it appears to be. I would really, really love to give it a testing squeeze, but I don't. I hesitate for two reasons, the first being that I hope that her bottom is squashy, as it appears to be, and I would be disappointed to find that it was otherwise. Secondly, and much more importantly, she might awaken to find me copping an inappropriate feel, and would become angry with me if she caught me, and might give me a resounding smack to my face, followed by a big dose of the silent treatment. For these reasons, I keep my hands to myself, thinking that it would be wise to wait until we have kissed before attempting more...um; intimate...pursuits with her, if we ever manage to get to the kissing stage, that is.

This was how I'd wanted things to be with her, the thought that had driven me since I'd put the pieces into play for the escape. Of course, I would like to have plush accommodations surrounding us while we got cuddly and close with each other, a nice house that was climate controlled, with facets that didn't drip and an atmosphere devoid of the pungent odor that our current lodging seemed to possess in every nook and cranny, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and we would just have to make do with what we had until something better could be found.

Back at Arkham Asylum, that palace of nonstop luxury and fun, I had laid in my bunk every night with the frustrating knowledge that she was right next door to me, lying prone in her own bed, and it had nearly driven me mad...heh,heh...to be so close to her and to not be able to hold her the way I was right now, and it was just a tad bit disconcerting to find myself in a place and situation which would have always seemed like such a longshot before, and I pinched myself, more than once, to ensure that I wasn't dreaming.

I was ashamed to admit that I satisfied myself nightly, imagining her as I did so. I would close my eyes and think of her, placing her into scenes of erotic awakenings and vigorous desires, stifling moans of pleasure as my rigid flesh slid back and forth through the warm, dampened confines of my fist, which proved to be an adequate, though altogether poor substitute for the real thing. Of course, it had been a long time since I had even gotten close to the real thing, let alone placed myself within its silken confines, but my memory where such things were concerned hadn't been taken from me, as so many others had, and I longed for the day when I would experience my Dainty and taste all that she had to offer me. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that once I'd had her, had possessed her fully, that all memories of my past encounters would vanish, and I wouldn't mourn their passing in the least.

I hadn't allowed myself to place any of my real interactions with her into my fantasies, holding those moments too dear to my heart to soil them with my lustful pursuits. I only allowed myself to think of her as she was in my heart during the times that I was not aroused, and therefore posed no risk of sullying the purity of those memories. When I was able to think of her, the Violet who had taken over the ownership of my heart, I remembered the first time that she had smiled at me, that shy curving of her lips that I had christened as Jack's Smile. I thought of her sitting beneath the solitary shadow of the oak tree in the yard, brushing her hair back out of her face when the breeze would blow it forward. I recalled her sitting across from me as we dined on the delicacy of Meatloaf Surprise at Arkham which I swear to you consists of the stray cats who wander too close to the gates of the asylum, and wrinkling her nose delicately as she stifled the urge to spit the bite of meaty garbage back into her napkin.

I was eagerly anticipating our new life together, the memories that we would make together. I hoped that she was looking forward to it as much as I was, and that she would stay with me. I had never even considered the possibility of a somewhat normal life with a woman, you know, the whole golden ring, two-story house in the suburbs, white picket fence enclosing the rug rats and the family dog. These thoughts would have disturbed me before I met Violet, but with each day that passed the American Dream appealed to me more and more, and I hoped that happiness like that would be available to a guy like me, even with all of the baggage I dragged along with me.

Violet's POV

I woke up scared, sitting up straight in an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by unknown walls, wondering for just a moment if I had completely lost my mind, then remembering fleeing from Arkham with Jack, after avoiding an attack by King and his flunkies, again with the help of my Jack. He had apologized profusely for the state of the house...well, shack, to be honest...that he had arranged for us following the escape, but I was so relieved to be out of Arkham that I wouldn't have cared if we'd had to stay in the sewers, as long as I was free and as long as I was with Jack.

I could smell the mouth-watering aromas of breakfast edging out the stale cigarette and dank cellar rot odor that had assaulted us since we'd arrived at our hideout. I smelled buttery toast, fried eggs and bacon, accompanied by the sound of Jack whistling as he cooked breakfast for us, scents which made my stomach growl and my mouth water with anticipation. I climbed out of bed, pulling on the hem of my t-shirt in a vain attempt to make it longer, and hurried to position myself beside the makeshift table he'd assembled from a large piece of cardboard laid across a pile of cinderblocks, hoping that I didn't flash my panties at him as I scurried past him.

I indulged myself with a long look at him while he finished cooking, and was shocked by the change in him. He'd scrubbed the greasepaint from his face, leaving a surprisingly youthful countenance behind, and I felt a little zing of awareness course through me when our eyes met. He seemed to be a little self-conscious of his bare face, to begin with, but brightened when he saw that I approved of the look.

"Hey there good-looking," he said with a smile, causing me to blush as his eyes traveled the length of my body, first down and then up. "Want to see what I got cooking?"

I was really going to have to get over my propensity of shyness around him, because he wasn't going to cease his penchant of flirting shamelessly, not that I really wanted him to. "It certainly smells scrumptious," I answered, walking toward him slowly, my hands clasped together in a bid to keep them from pulling on the hem of my Arkham t-shirt, which hit at the immodest level of mid-thigh.

He watched me closely, his gaze still shamelessly traveling the length of my body. "Well, it's not exactly a gourmet feast," he answered, his voice deepening into that seductive tone that always seemed to reach out and grab hold of me right between my legs. "But it will be sufficient to satisfy our hunger...for now, at least."

There was no question of the fact that he wasn't just talking about our need for food, and I felt my face heat self-consciously, in spite of my desire to do away with my bashful inclinations. Jack walked over to me and took me by the hand, his thumb gently caressing the sensitive flesh of my palm and led me to my seat, pulling out the spool which had previously held large copper wiring, but now served as my chair. I sat down, ignoring its rough texture, and smiled widely, with my stomach loudly rumbling, as he presented me with a feast of two eggs, two pieces of toast and several slices of bacon.

"Bon Appetit, ma Mignonne," he whispered, bending to kiss my forehead.

I tried to tell myself that it would be best to wait for him to sit down with his own breakfast before digging into the bounty that he had laid before me, but hunger trumped my desire to be polite, and I laid into the food with all the delicacy of a pig slopping at its trough. Jack didn't seem to be offended by my sudden lack of manners, thankfully, if anything he looked pleased, as well as amused. He took up his own knife and fork and put me to shame in the genteel dining habits department, making me wince at my behavior and force myself to slow down despite the fact that I was starving and the meal he had cooked tasted better than any I'd had in six months, between County Lockup and Arkham Asylum.

"I have to meet with a contact of mine in an hour," he said softly, diverting my attention from my meal. "He can put us into a nicer place tonight, somewhere clean, with a decent shower and more comfortable beds."

It was obvious that he meant to go alone, and that scared me, both for him to be out in the open, and vulnerable, and also because that meant that I was going to have to be without him. I chastised myself for acting like a ninny, reminding myself of his capability to blend in with his surroundings, and that he would always come back for me. It was a tiny bit alarming to realize how dependent I had become on him in such a short amount of time.

"I'll have him put some decent clothes for us at the new place," he said, gesturing to the orange inmate garb tossed across the foot of the bed that would make us stand out like a sore thumb in the crowds of Gotham. He was garbed in his lounge wear from the asylum that had "inmate" across the back in black letters, but with the odd styles of dress that were popular throughout the city, he would go unnoticed, more than likely. "Make a list of things that you like, clothing, food, books, music...anything, and I'll give it to him."

"Won't it be difficult to gather everything together in such a short amount of time?" I asked as I rose to clear the paper plates from the table, tidying up as much as possible.

"He has several employees," Jack answered, his eyes following me as I placed the plates in a metal trashcan, and then grabbed the frying pan, looking around for some soap and a rag to wash it with. "Don't worry about cleaning up, sweet girl," he told me. "Someone will be coming in after us to torch this place, to get rid of evidence. Why don't you come over here and give me a hug before I leave instead."

He had gotten to his feet and was standing beside the door, hand on the knob. I put down the frying pan and walked toward him, taken aback once more by his bare face, which gave me the opportunity to take in just how handsome he was, when the white, black and red weren't hiding his features from me.

I stood on my tiptoes and twined my arms around his neck, pressing myself up flush against his body. He bent down to accommodate me, and I pressed my lips against his neck, causing him to groan deep in his throat. He twined his hands in my t-shirt, pulling me tighter against him and I gasped as I felt the proof of his arousal pressed against the softness of my femininity. I was lost in a fog of awakening, finally graced with the freedom that we needed to explore one another, but then a tiny niggling of concern over something that he'd said broke through my stupor, and I leaned back in his arms so that I see his face.

"Why did you say _beds_ instead of bed?" I whispered my worry evident in my voice.

"Why did I say what...huh?" he asked, perplexed by the interruption of our closeness.

"You said that your contact would get us a nicer place, with more comfortable bed_s_," I explained, knowing I probably sounded like a total nincompoop.

He smiled slowly, bending his head to kiss the tip of my nose. "I thought that maybe you'd be more comfortable if you had your own bed, instead of having to share with me," he explained.

How could he possibly think I wanted to sleep in a bed alone, no matter how comfortable or luxurious, as opposed to sleeping curled up in his arms? I'd just as soon lie down on a bloodstained mattress stuffed with rabid sewer rats and scurrying cockroaches. "I want to sleep with _you_," I answered vehemently, pulling him down into my embrace once more. "I would be very _un_comfortable in a bed all by myself."

He chuckled, pulling me closer to him, shocking me a little as his hand stole down to cup one of my butt cheeks.

"You're not going to hear me complaining about sharing a bed with you," he replied, his hand caressing, and shamelessly squeezing, my ass. "Ooh, nice and squashy booty...just like I hoped it would be."

"Are you saying I have a fat ass?" I asked my voice filled with indignation, trying my best to pull away from him.

He had started chuckling again, effortlessly holding me captive right where he wanted me. "Why is it that anytime a woman receives what is intended as a compliment, she automatically searches out a malicious undercurrent in the words?" he asked, clamping both of his hands on my butt, squeezing each cheek appreciatively. "A woman is supposed to have a squashy butt, not a muscular one like a man's."

He demonstrated this by capturing my hand and dragging it back toward his backside, curling my hand against his butt cheek. "See my Dainty," he said, manipulating my hand so that it curled into the firm roundness of his butt. "Mine is a little soft, but mostly it's hard," he said, raising his eyebrows at me suggestively. "But yours is nice and soft...kind of pillowy in comparison."

It occurred to me how odd this conversation was, as we stood in the middle of the ramshackle room, groping one another, each of us growing more and more aroused with each moment that passed. Suddenly Jack remembered his meeting with his contact, and with a muffled apology he turned abruptly and left me standing alone, dazed by what had just happened, and frustrated by the unfulfilled need that was coursing through my body.

Jack's POV

Violet and I were enjoying a late night sumptuous feast of Chinese takeout, the first in what seemed like years for me. We were curled up on our brand-new sofa, watching Jerry Springer on our new television set. My Dainty had explained that the show was a guilty pleasure for her, a chance to watch the drama of other people's lives unfold, making her own seem more normal in comparison.

I wasn't one who watched very much TV and I hadn't ever watched Mr. Springer and the parade of trashy guests whose lives he took malicious glee in exploiting, but I decided that the experience was akin to eyeballing a train wreck as you passed by the scene. What was astounding to me the most was the fact that Violet and I had been locked away, left to rot in the cuckoo nest, while people with severe mental problems paraded their lunacy on national television, left free to show off every degradation humanly possible, aside from live rape and murder.

I had been a tad apprehensive when my Dainty arrived at our new abode, ferried to that location by my faithful servant Wonko. It would take a while to situate everything to our liking, but it was going to be a very nice place once we got everything in order. I was worried that my behavior earlier in the day, grabbing hold of her bottom and squeezing it, might have upset her, but she seemed to be more comfortable around me, perfectly at ease with my flirting, surprising me with a new show of aggressiveness where I was concerned.

We finished our food and sat back on the sofa, snuggling up close to one another. It was then that I noticed that she had removed her bra, and I could feel the push of her nipple against my arm. I rubbed my arm against her softly, wanting to see what would happen, and was rewarded for my effort when I felt the flesh harden further and heard her gasp of surprise.

I had put off every impulse to kiss her before this moment, a real kiss that is, on the lips. I had argued with myself that it would be too soon, that I would be pressuring her, but I had reached the point where I had to kiss her...I needed to kiss her...and I would be willing to plead with her for her permission, if that was what was necessary.

I turned her in my arms, clicking the television off with my free hand. I looked into her eyes, memorizing every detail, shaken by the trust and the emotion that I saw staring back at me. My hands shook as I held her and my mouth felt dry, and I licked my lips nervously, chewing on my bottom lip as I summoned the courage to embrace her mouth with my own.

She raised a hand up to cup my cheek, making me wince self-consciously as her fingertips brushed against my scars. She stopped for a moment, perhaps to see if I was angry, or perhaps to make sure that I didn't want to tell her to stop, and when she saw that I wasn't objecting to her touch, she caressed my scars once more, using her lips this time in lieu of her hands.

I would swear that I stopped breathing at that moment, when I felt the soft fullness of her lips caressing my damaged flesh, those ugly wounds that had been carved into my face. She ran her lips along the disfigurement on the left, repeating the motion with the one on the right, finally ending with a feather soft smooch on the scar beneath my lower lip. I hoped that she wouldn't comment on them, or make remarks with regard to pity, because I wasn't ready to explain them to her, and I had no desire for her to regard me in any fashion that could remotely be compared to sympathetic, and thankfully she said nothing.

I had been so worried about this moment, our first kiss, and how I would initiate the intimacy, but in the end she resolved that issue for me, straddling my lap as she lowered her face, her lips meeting mine softly, a new acquaintance with someone who I felt I had known all of my life. I behaved myself quite well for the first few moments, balling my hands into fists on the sofa, resolutely avoiding the need to grab Violet inappropriately, but when I felt the warm silkiness of her tongue trace the seam of my lips, I lost all my ability to conduct myself in a gentlemanlike manner.

My hands stole round to grasp her rear once more...I was becoming quite fixated on my Dainty's tush...and I thrust her forward, brushing her quite nicely against my straining manhood. She gasped against my mouth and I took that opportunity to steal into her mouth with my tongue, eagerly exploring her as I'd been dreaming of for the past couple of weeks. There was the flavor of our dinner, the General Tso's Chicken and the egg rolls, but beneath that there was sweetness, a honey like flavor that I concluded was the taste of my Dainty, or at least one facet of her.

Our tongues undulated together, an impression of lovemaking all their own, and I could feel that my control was slipping, and I knew that it was much too soon to pass through that threshold, no matter how much I might wish for it to happen. I could sense innocence in Violet and knew that if she wasn't a virgin, she was the nearest thing to it, and I had no desire to rid her of that purity before she was completely prepared for it.

I pulled away from her, gently kissing away her whimper of protest. "Come with me, my angel," I whispered, placing her on the couch beside me. "It is late and I am tired, and there will be plenty of time for kissing tomorrow...all day, as a matter of fact."

She had seemed a little upset to begin with, and I hoped that she could see that I wasn't rejecting her. In the end she followed me quite easily, and I found myself looking forward to the night, thinking of holding her all in my arms...I just hoped that I was capable of behaving myself.

Ma Mignonne-My Dainty


	5. Two Steps Behind

Chapter Five

Two Steps Behind

Jack's POV

Had I been consulted for my preference on the way that I would like to spend my day, would it be... (a)…to spend the day nestled in a warm bed, cuddled up and all smoochy coo with my Dainty or...(b)…following around the jagoff that placed my lady love in Arkham Asylum on what was proving to be an unseasonably cold and rainy day, my honest answer would be the former...of course...rather than the latter. But given the fact that the chatter up, down, and all around Gotham was that Rizzuto was offering a substantial reward for Violet's return, to him, for punishment, I knew that he would have to be dealt with...in an imaginative and horrific way. I decided that striking those around him first would send a good message, would strike a little fear in the big bully, and after a day spent shadowing Rizzuto and his goons, I had my candidate.

The rumor had floated around that Louie "Jelly Belly" Romaro was Anthony's right hand man, with him nearly 24/7, and during the time that I spent stalking them, I saw that this was true. The extremely corpulent gentleman was also rumored to be Tony's bestest bud, an honor he had held from the age of five, and some had even dared to whisper that Louie carried a torch for Rizzuto that was as big as his jelly belly, but these reports were unsubstantiated. Whatever the exact nature of their relationship, it was evident that Anthony depended on Mr. Romaro quite a bit, and that the loss of this man would be devastating to him and with that thought in mind I set off for my new home, the first ingredient for my recipe of revenge formulating within the confines of my mind.

Dusk had settled in by the time I reached the house, and I unlocked and opened the front door, led by my nose to find the source of the scrumptious scents that greeted me. I found my Dainty in the kitchen, which was still somewhat in a state of disarray, with boxes scattered here and there, some that were open and more that were shut. She had dug out the new set of pots and pans and was dancing back and forth in front of the stove, stirring something in one of the tall pots. Her yoga pants were black and snug and well...very stirring in their own right, as was the heinie that they were clinging to so nicely. She had a tiny tank top on, deep purple edged with black in color, and when I let out a low wolf whistle to declare my approval and admiration of her apparel, she whirled around, screaming loud enough to do permanent damage to my eardrums.

The injury to my eardrums had no effect on my eyesight however, and I took immediate notice of her breasts, the size and shape of them displayed by the tank top more intimately than any garment had in the past. My hands were itching to reach out and cup one of the tempting goodies, but I could see by the openly hostile look on Violet's lovely face that now was not the time to be attempting to cop a feel.

"Damn it Jack!" she shouted. "You scared the holy hell out of me!"

That was a confusing exclamation, I mean, to begin with, how is it possible for Hell to be holy and also, I think that she's much too sweet of a girl to be filled with enough of Hell's presence to have it frightened from her body. I would have brought that fact to her attention, were I not terrified of the repercussions that pointing out the fault of her statement might bring at that moment, and so I kept those thoughts to myself.

"I'm sorry," I whispered holding out my hand, which held a present that I'd acquired for her that afternoon, as a peace offering. I had done substantial research in the library of Arkham, and through my online inquiries had discovered that aster blossoms signified both daintiness and a symbol of love. With that knowledge in mind I had sought out a reputable florist and had the sweet, grandmotherly lady behind the counter whip me up a bouquet of lavender asters and violets for my dainty little girl.

I had taken a chance, assuming that she would like flowers, and although I wasn't aware what her favorite blossom was, I hoped that she would like my choices, once I had explained them to her. She seemed genuinely surprised...and happy...that I had brought her back a prezzie, and she stepped forward almost shyly to take the posies from my hand.

"Oh Jack, they're beautiful," she murmured, burying her nose into the blossoms and breathing deeply.

You'd have thought that I had given her a truly luxurious gift from her reaction, rather than some fairly inexpensive flowers, but I didn't mind the response that my offering to her had inspired as she rushed towards me and threw her arms around me...after placing the blooms into a makeshift vase. Her body fit perfectly against mine, as though she had been formed for that one purpose, and I clasped her close against me, my senses flaring as her fragrance flooded my nose, her soft warmth igniting the arousal that always seemed close at hand whenever she was near.

"I didn't know what kind of flowers were your favorite," I explained, leaning down to rub my lips against her throat. "Would you like to know why I picked these for you?"

"Sure," she gasped, raising her chin to offer me better access to her neck, her hand twining in my hair, pressing my lips more firmly against her flesh.

I parted from her throat reluctantly, pressing one final kiss upon her warm skin and then drew back, so that I could look at her eyes. They were shining happily, a sight that would never grow old for me. "The violets are there for both your name, and for the fact that they signify modesty and simplicity. You are a humble woman, and your beauty is effortless, a natural radiance that doesn't require any further adornment. The asters denote daintiness, for my Dainty, and they are also a symbol of love...a representation...you could say... of the love that I feel for you."

Her eyes widened with surprise and she took a deep breath, and I realized that I had made a grave mistake in baring my heart and my soul too quickly. I had convinced myself that she felt the same...that she loved me just as I loved her, but now I realized that I had misinterpreted the emotions that showed in her eyes.

I pulled myself out of her embrace, muttering and stumbling over a clutter of pathetic apologies, desperate to flee, from the room and also from the ridicule that she was sure to pitch in my direction, but she held fast to me, keeping me firmly in her arms. I didn't want to look at her...I didn't want to see the disdain in her beautiful eyes...that would be too much for me to bear. I was hurt and I was livid, and I tried to pull myself from her embrace once more, hissing at her angrily to release me, but she refused to comply with my demand.

"Jack, please look at me," she murmured, caressing my back with her hands. "Don't push me away."

Her hands felt good, stroking the tension out of my muscles, and I reluctantly met her gaze once more, ready to run if I saw the derision I was expecting, and my entire body seemed to swell and deflate with relief when I saw that her eyes were still sparkling happily, and there were also tears brimming there, ecstatic tears, by the look of them.

"You took me by surprise, Sweetheart," she whispered, leaning forward to brush her lips across my cheeks, tiny kisses above, below, and on my scars, which I still expected to repulse her. "What I felt, what I was going to say before disbelief momentarily stole my voice from me was that I love you too, and that nothing that you could have said would make me happier than I am right now."

The heart is an amazing thing...it can plummet to its deepest depth of depression in one moment, and an instant later it can rocket with happiness to a height barely contained in one's body. That was what I had just felt; the lowest of melancholy followed by the soaring of joy that threatened to consume me completely. Who would have thought that a freak like me could have landed such a classy dame, a grade A woman who loved me just as much as I loved her...at least I _hoped_ that she loved me that much.

"What if I had said that you make me feel all funny and hot inside when I look at your fanny in those tight pants?" I asked, snorting with laughter and ducking away from a rather pitiful attempt by her to slap me. "Or what if I'd told you that your boobies jiggle rather provocatively in that tank top whenever you walk and it's all I can do to keep my naughty hands all to myself?"

She narrowed her eyes at me, and I yelped in a rather sissified manner as one of her stinging slaps caught me on my shoulder. "I'd say that you need to reestablish yourself as the boss of your body," she retorted. "It sounds to me like your penis has taken over the base of operations."

Man, oh man...did she have any idea the effect a simple blurting of the word "penis" had when said term came rolling out from between lips like those pouty beauties that she carried around on her lovely face? It was like she had reached down and tickled those kissers across the very part of my anatomy that she claimed was currently running the show for me. Not that she had said something that was fraudulent...my Willy definitely influenced a good deal of my thoughts these days.

It occurred to me then that she was staring at me, and I tried to recall what it was that we had been discussing or whether or not she'd asked me a question, but my mind came up blank. All I could remember was chatter about willies and boobs...oh yeah, there was a mention of booty in there as well...but surely she hadn't been running on about those sorts of things, so I decided that a little cuddly and smoochy was the best tactic for me to take at that time.

I pulled her up into my arms, lifting her quite easily from the floor and kissed her until we were both breathing hard and my John Thomas was surging insistently against that soft, moist heat between her pretty legs. I was allowing myself to get carried away, something that I had promised myself I wouldn't do, and there was also the point of fact that I was starving, and if my nose was right, there was a pot of homemade chicken noodle soup simmering on the stove.

Against the protests of my raging libido I set her down gently on the floor and crossed the kitchen to take a deep whiff of the soup, delighted when I didn't see anything other than the broth, bits of chicken and egg noodles in the pot...no orange or green floaters to bring me down off of my anticipation of the culinary delight that awaited me. It would appear that my Dainty shared my view that there was no need to befoul...get it...be_fowl_... perfectly good soup with carrots and celery...yeech.

I turned and gave her my best impression of a starving waif, and she giggled, while pointing at the table and told me to have a seat. Now was the time to feed a more basic hunger, with plenty of time later on to explore the ravenous need that was blossoming between me and my lady love.

"Just a minute," I thought to myself as I sat down, taking a deep breath, moaning in a nearly orgasmic fashion as the delectable aroma of cinnamon and sugar filled my nose. That was when I spied them on the counter...a platter of cinnamon rolls, homemade ones by the look of them.

If I didn't know better, I'd swear that this girl was intent on doing me in...Or at the very least, turning me into a man whose waistband grew until his penis rested in the shade year-round...I wonder if a lack of sun would make it shrink?

Violet's POV

Jack fell asleep during the movie, not that I expected _Sense and Sensibility _to grab hold and keep his interest anyway. I suppose the fact that caught my attention and caused me to giggle wasn't that he had drifted off into dreamland, but rather the fact that he was sitting with his arm around me, his head resting, leaned back on the sofa, his mouth wide open as he snored loud enough to disturb the sleep of the dead.

I suppose his exhaustion was due to his journey out of doors today, wherever it had taken him, in addition to the two bowls of soup followed by three cinnamon rolls that he'd devoured for supper. I had always known that I had a gift where cooking and baking were concerned, but to hear the praise that he had lavished on me throughout the meal, you'd think that there wasn't another person walking the face of the Earth who could best me in culinary excellence. It was odd to hear compliments, after so many years of cruelty and spite, but I was quickly becoming adjusted to the commendation, and the affection was a nice surprise as well.

You could have knocked me over with a feather when Jack had told me that he loved me earlier, and I had been so dumbfounded that I hadn't been able to answer him as quickly as I would have liked to, and the hurt and anger that I had seen sweep over him had broken my heart. I hadn't been confused by his behavior at all, knowing all too well what it was like to offer your heart to someone, only to be rebuffed by the person that you long for. My experiences were from my family, from their cruelty and their disloyalty, and I had a feeling that Jack had never truly been loved, not in a way that would have been satisfying to both his heart and his soul.

It was during times like that in the kitchen, when he had offered me the flowers, so shy, just like a little boy, that love swelled my heart to an extent that it was nearly painful, and when he kissed me breathless, blind and crazy that my desire for him seemed to take on a life of its own, a need that drove me almost to desperation. Jack was unyielding in his belief that we should take things slow, and while part of me appreciated his thoughtfulness for my comfort, another part of me wanted to ask him to take me, right then, wherever we were, consequences be damned.

The snoring that was vibrating my eardrums died away, and I turned on the couch to watch him sleep, loving the fact that I was given this opportunity. He was ashamed of the scars that marred his beautiful face, and was filled with the ludicrous notion that I was repulsed by the flesh, but in truth, the imperfections on his face made me love him all the more, they made him even more irresistible to me.

I turned the movie off, having lost all interest in the loves of the Dashwood girls myself, and very slowly and very softly I moved myself toward him on the couch. I straddled his body, one of my legs resting on each side of his body and lowered my head to kiss him, hoping to convey to him how he made me feel.

I traced the tip of my tongue along the seam of his lips, and he groaned aloud, grasping me firmly in his arms, but I wasn't ready to relinquish control just yet and ran the naughty point all over his face, tracing each scar, marveling at the softness of the flesh that had caused him so much pain. I strayed from my exploration long enough to pull his shirt off over his head, knotting his hands as well as if I'd been in possession of some handcuffs. He had awakened fully by this time and watched me very intently as I kissed every spot of him that I could reach.

He humored my boldness until I reached his chest and ran my tongue over and around one of his nipples, and then he gasped and tore his hands against the binding of his shirt, ripping the material as he grabbed hold of me and all but bounced me off of the surface of the sofa with the urgency of his desire.

His eyes were bright, burning with the need that was coursing through him, and I shivered with anticipation as I realized that what he wanted, what he needed, was to coax and charm the pleasure from my body, which would result in sating at least some of his arousal...and mine as well.

"Such a naughty little girl," he whispered, leaning down to run his lips over my face, kissing me softly everywhere, except for my lips. "Tempting a bad man like me might be pushing your luck a little too far, my dainty, wanton minx."

His voice was a seductive growl, a sensual timbre that caused my craving for him to grow. He had to know the effect that he had on me at times like this, when I was vulnerable and hungry for him, everything in me crying out for him to place his hands on me, to press his lips against my body. I was so wet, swollen with my ache for him. I writhed against him, whimpering with need, even though he'd barely touched me, and I should have been ashamed to hear myself begging for him to touch me, please...to kiss me, please, but I wasn't embarrassed at all.

His eyes changed then, as I pleaded with him to take the incessant throbbing away, the one that plagued me whenever he was close to me. They were still alight with passion, still smoldering with seduction, but a small piece of kindness was there in his gaze as well, along with the love that he had professed to me earlier that evening.

"Don't worry, baby girl," his voice was near my ear, accompanied by the warmth of his mouth as he leaned down to draw my earlobe into his mouth, suckling it gently. "I'm not going to leave you in this state."

He moved between my splayed thighs, which had parted for him as though it were the natural response for my body, to open to him and lay ready and waiting beneath him. I felt his arousal pressed firmly against that spot that was aching and arched myself up against him, desperate to soothe the throbbing. "Easy does it my Dainty," he gasped, before capturing my lips, his tongue rushing forward to mate feverishly with mine. The room around me grew dim, sound ceased to exist, and all I knew was the feel of him, the smell of him and the taste of him.

One hand he had placed behind my head, moving me as he kissed me, while the other traveled from where it rested against the back of the sofa, down to cup my breast. No one had ever touched me there before, well except for my doctor, and since I don't have any sexual attraction towards her, it wasn't quite the same sort of sensation. He was able to grasp it entirely in his hand, and I wondered for just a moment whether he thought that I was built inadequately, at least I wondered that until he broke his lips away from mine to smile at me and whisper one word..."perfection".

He was definitely a silver-tongued devil, my Jack was, and the only thing that would have made the moment better would have been if my breast were bare, pressed against the lightly calloused skin of his palm. I knew him well enough to know that he'd say that we'd do that "all in good time" and that we should concentrate on "taking things slowly". I knew that he was right, I knew that it wouldn't take much for me to find myself in over my head, but knowing something isn't the same as liking something.

I couldn't really describe the feel of his hand on me accurately, not in a way that would do it any justice, but I would swear that when he tugged on my nipple, I felt the pull between my legs. I could feel that my panties had grown saturated with the proof of my desire, and I felt so engorged from the rush of arousal that had engulfed me that it was nearly a painful experience, the sort of pain that feels so good, if you know what I mean.

I would have leapt off of the sofa if he hadn't been lying on top of me, when his mouth took the place of his hand, his teeth drawing my nipple into his mouth through the fabric of my tank top. He alternated between nipping the hardened flesh and suckling on it, drawing his tongue all around, driving me crazy, and then I froze as he leaned himself onto his side, his hand traveling down my tummy, tickling me for just a moment before cupping me boldly in his hand.

I halfway expected myself to go to pieces then and there, my first orgasm orchestrated by anyone other than myself, and I was surprised, and just a little disappointed that while my passion flared, and I grew even more aware of him and of myself, I wasn't quite pushed over the precipice just yet.

His fingers curled down to cup me, teasing my swollen pussy lips through the thin material of my pants, and he used the butt of his hand in a rhythm against the spot where my clitoris had strayed from its confines and was peeking out, drawn out of hiding by the increase of stimulation that I was enjoying. He played me like a fine instrument, one that he'd spent years practicing on, and soon I was writhing against his hand, tossing my head back and forth, whimpering as I sought the release that I knew was there, somewhere, waiting for me.

"Don't fight it sweet baby girl," Jack whispered, his hand growing more insistent against me, refusing to allow me rest until I reached my summit. "Don't think about what you're trying to do...just let yourself feel it."

Did he honestly think that I was fighting this? That I didn't want to find the satisfaction that I had thought was possible? I wanted it in the worst possible way, and the thing that had me scared was the thought that maybe I was defective in some way; maybe the only orgasms I was meant to enjoy were the lonely ones I gave to myself.

"I love you Violet," Jack whispered, kissing me gently, almost reverently. "I've loved you since the first time I saw your eyes. I've thought about holding you, about kissing you since that first night. And every night I've thought about putting my hand where it is right now, and how amazing it would be to hear you as you came apart beneath my touch."

His fingers tightened against my pussy lips, the butt of his hand hit exactly the right spot, and I froze for just a moment as a wave of release coursed through me that proved that while I had assured myself in the past that I had experienced an orgasm, I had been sorely mistaken as the real thing seized hold of me. I tried to muffle my cries, embarrassed to proclaim my liberation so loudly, but it was impossible to quiet myself. I cried out over and over, my voice growing hoarse as I shouted Jack's name, that I loved him, as well as several things that were slightly sacrilegious, tears flowing from my eyes as wave after wave of aftershock trembled within me.

Jack sat up on the sofa and moved me forward, then pulled me back into his arms, my body still quaking and quivering from my release. I started to turn, eager to return the favor, but he stopped me. "I'm happy just like this my Dainty," he whispered, cuddling me close in his arms, the evidence of his own arousal hard against my backside.

"Why won't you let me?" I whispered, thinking that this was a hell of a time for him to be stubborn about not going too far, after he'd just decimated me on the living room sofa. I was curious to touch him with my hands, to see how he reacted to that, but he refused to give in.

"You need a gradual awakening, sweet girl," he murmured, kissing my forehead. "I won't rush you; I don't want to ruin things by going too fast."

"You've got to be hurting right now Jack," I argued, one last contention on my part, with the full knowledge that he would win, just as he always did. "I just want to make you feel as good as you've made me feel."

He giggled softly, and kissed me, lingering long enough on my lips to rekindle the fire between us. "The pain is temporary, my love, and won't place me in any danger whatsoever. As for feeling good, let me assure you that hearing you at that moment, when you came, did things for my heart...and my pride...that I'll replay over and over again."

I cuddled against his chest, my eyelids growing heavy as I surrendered myself to the warm glow that apparently followed an earth shattering orgasm. I knew that the bed would be more comfortable for a good night's rest, but I didn't have the strength to make the journey to our room. I murmured that I loved him and wished him goodnight, sleep finding me more quickly than it ever had before.

A/N: Thanks to all who have read and reviewed, and/or added me to your various alerts and favorites. I know I was a bit of a tease with this chapter, at least where poor Jack was concerned, and I'm afraid that I intend to make him suffer a bit more in the next chapter as well. I also want to apologize to those who may have found parts of this chapter rather saccharine in flavor, but I'm a sucker for mush, incurably addicted to lemony prose.


	6. Breathing Soft On My Skin

Chapter Six

Breathing Soft on My Skin

Jack's POV

Corpulent gentlemen should really avoid bondage gear as a general rule, I mean is there anything more nauseating than a flabby backside displayed for all to see adorned in nothing but black leather chaps? I suppose that they wouldn't have been quite so revolting on Louie Romaro's sagging figure if he'd been wearing pants beneath the chaps, but I'm afraid that Jelly Belly was going au natural, running the risk of causing all who laid eyes on his mountainous backside...not to mention his miniscule wiener...to gouge their own eyeballs out in an effort to spare themselves from such a disgusting display.

I would imagine that most who knew him wouldn't expect to see him dressed in the chaps, accessorized with a two gun holster holding twin pearl handled six-shooters...fake ones, of course...and a cherry red cowboy hat...yippee ki-yay mamacita...but then they probably also wouldn't expect to find him passed out in front of Rough Riders, a nightclub that apparently specialized in providing wild west style action to the homosexual men in Gotham who appreciated that sort of, uh, thing. I don't have any personal experience with the goings-on inside the club, but it hadn't taken me long to find someone who would help me with my plan of revenge, for a surprisingly low sum of money. Apparently the mob fools had screwed him...heh, heh...out of some money in the past, once they found out about his tendencies to bat for the home team, and he was anxious to help in any way that he could to get back at Rizzuto and his crew.

I had paid him five hundred dollars, the two fifty that was owed to him by Anthony and another two fifty for compensation of posing with his fly open, his penis firmly inserted in the mouth of a very nervous looking Mr. Romaro. It had taken quite a bit of coaxing on my part to garner Jelly's cooperation, but once I acquainted him with my favorite knife Pokey, he shut up quick and didn't put up any more fuss about the outfit, nor the penis that was placed in his mouth. Of course, I'd had to threaten that if he remained stubborn, I would personally hunt down each and every gay man who tended toward violence that resided in Gotham and had no problem with the issue of running a rape chain straight up Mr. Romaro's...well, you know.

He had tearfully submitted to me then, the thought of his chubby backside being raided gleefully by the rapists in town subduing any ideas that he was getting out of this deal on the winning side. Once I had taken several damaging photographs, I had bashed him in the back of the head, knocking him out cold, and had sent my partner in crime on his merry way, five hundred dollars richer. A panicky message was then sent to Mr. Rizzuto, with directions to Rough Riders, and a plea for him to hurry, because his good friend Jelly was in trouble.

It wasn't an easy job, positioning the tubbo outside the dumpsters of the club, the uncomplimentary photos clutched tightly in his pudgy hand. I was sure that my back would ache for days, maybe even weeks from dragging his bloated carcass around the side of the club, and I was pretty damn sure that he had managed to ruin my appetite for dinner that night...the bastard.

I finished my task just in the nick of time, and was barely able to hide myself before the cavalry arrived, led by Anthony Rizzuto, who had brought along an entourage of six strapping mobsters. There was a good deal of confusion as the wise guys tried to assess whether the sight that was damaging their retinas was real, but all was clear to them, crystal-clear, as a matter of fact, when Rizzuto stepped forward and pulled the Polaroid shots from Jelly Belly's fat fingers. He stared for a moment, his disgust plain on his face, and then he let out an outraged roar that nourished my need for vengeance, and I knew that my work there was done. I had taken a pound of flesh from Tony this evening, severing his ties to and his friendship with, the unfortunate Mr. Romaro.

I didn't stick around to witness the fruits of my labor, the cries of indignation and accusations of betrayal were thick in the air, along with the vicious blows landing on the now conscious Jelly's body. That paired with the exclamations of innocence from Mr. Romaro affirmed that I had delivered a crucial blow to Rizzuto's cozy existence, and I was eager to return home to my Dainty.

It had been a long time, or so it seemed, since I had allowed myself to act in this fashion, behavior that Violet had never witnessed firsthand, and if I had any say in the matter, she would never see me this way. I had detached myself as much as I could from the evening's activities, not wanting to be marked by them, but I felt the repercussions despite my precautions. Rizzuto had called my vengeance upon himself when he messed with my girl, although I hadn't known her at the time, and before I was through with him he would feel the magnitude of his sins as the things that he depended on, the things that he cherished, slipped away from him, or were completely destroyed.

The house was asleep when I got home, and I entered quietly, hoping that Violet was sleeping as well. There were delectable aromas still redolent in the air, remnants of the meal that I had missed that evening. I saw that Dainty had left a note on the counter, informing me that she had left a plate of roasted chicken and potatoes warming for me in the oven, and that I should help myself to some chocolate cake as well, but my stomach wasn't up for any food, even the scrumptious fare prepared by my sweet girl. I turned off the oven, leaving the foil covered platter inside, and headed for the bathroom to shower and wash all traces of my alter ego away.

It had seemed both strange and comfortingly familiar to paint my face, away from Violet's notice, of course. The white and black and red appearing as long-lost friends, caressing my face while both masking and enhancing the mutilations that had been carved into my flesh. I don't know why I had ceased my application of war paint in my time with Dainty...I suppose that I had wanted her to concentrate her love on me, Jack, and forget that the Joker still resided within me. I didn't want her to know that in spite of my best efforts, that spirit still longed for chaos, still yearned for anarchy...thoughts that threatened to consume me and drive me mad...heh, heh. Some would say that there was no driving to be done, that I had arrived in and taken up official residence as the mayor of Crazy Town long ago, but to make that claim personally would be to deny my culpability in my actions. I could be described as being many things that were shameful, but one thing that I tried not to be was a liar, and so I have to admit to you that everything that I have done, and all that I will ever do, are with a clear mind that my actions are what most people would call iniquitous.

With that in mind, I cleansed and rinsed away the physical evidence of what I had done that night. I toweled off and groomed myself quickly, eager to snuggle in bed with my Dainty, hoping that she could calm that anger that had hurried the flow of my blood that evening, and that her presence could warm the chill that had encased my soul as I had done what I thought must be done as retribution for the crimes against my sweet girl.

I stood in the doorway of our bedroom, drinking her in with eyes that were tired, marveling at the light that had been offered to me so easily, that I really and truly didn't deserve. I knew that I wasn't worthy of her, but I would feel an honest sense of pity for anyone who would try to take her from me, because they would intimately be acquainted with misery and pain before I finished them. She slept the sleep of one who was truly at peace, a being filled with love and hope despite the empty life her family had bestowed upon her. She was my reason for living now, she was the center...the heart...of me, and the Joker was just going to have to accept that he wasn't my top priority anymore.

She had fallen asleep on the right side of the bed, turned so that her knees were pointed toward the center of the bed; effectively ruining any chances that I might have hoped existed that I could slide in behind her, cuddling her up tight in my arms. I was disappointed to have been denied that pleasure, but what else had I expected her to do, wait for my return after I had been gone since four o'clock that afternoon, eager to drape herself in whatever way would be agreeable to me? I had, and she had as well, enjoyed the last few days of new intimacy, although she was still exasperated by my unyielding refusal to allow her to pleasure me. I had tried to assure her that my hand had been of service to me countless times throughout my life, and would suffice for the time being, but she had not looked reassured, or satisfied with that response.

I slid beneath the purple silk sheets...shamelessly extravagant, I know...groaning softly as the bouquet of her scent rose up to meet me, the feminine fragrance of her that clung to everything. It had the usual effect on me, but I stifled my arousal, concentrating on calming myself enough so that maybe I could catch a few winks in a couple of hours or so. I turned on my side, away from my Dainty, staring at the wall, taking deep breaths to savor the rousing bouquet wafting from the sheets, punishing myself in an attempt to learn patience, though my mind was having none of it and went into dream mode instead. I had just about formulated a fantasy in my head, Violet bedecked in the tiniest of bikinis, moaning as I rubbed sun block onto her back, her fingertips digging into the terrycloth of the towel beneath her as she writhed sensuously against my ever-growing erection, when suddenly I felt her slide up behind me, her arm encircling me as she cuddled me close.

Her body was warm against my bare back, the sleepy kind of warmth of one who had just awakened. She was wearing a cute black nightie and panty set, sexy, but not overtly so, but then, she could make burlap look sexy, if you asked me. I groaned again as I felt her nipples harden through the satin covering her breasts, and a shiver raced through me from head to toe as I felt her nose nuzzle the middle of my back, her lips questing forth to kiss me softly, her breath warm on my skin.

"Welcome home sweetie," she whispered softly, her hand trekking downward to brazenly explore me through my cotton sleep pants. "I've been awful lonesome without you."

Violet's POV

He was a mystery to me, an enigmatic man who tended to disappear for hours at a time. I often wanted to question where it was that he vanished to, what was it that drew him away from me for hours at a time, but I always hesitated to ask him his business, not wanting to appear too needy or clingy.

The first time that he had spent hours away from me I had felt panicked, and my mind had raced uncontrollably as I watched and hoped for him to return. It bothered me that I had allowed myself to become so dependent on his presence, that I had grown used to him being there to brighten my day, that I wanted and needed to both love him and to be loved by him.

I tried to keep myself from allowing jealousy and suspicion to take root in my heart and in my mind, but I was new to this whole "being in love" thing, and I had to admit that I worried about him spending his time away from me in the company of other women, but I had found myself more and more reassured of his love and his devotion to only me these past few days, so jealousy has ceased to be such a problem for me.

I had kept his dinner warm for him this evening, never knowing whether his "errands" would keep him out for minutes or hours, and when he arrived home, I peeked at the bedside clock, taking note that nine hours had passed since he had left that afternoon. My mind raced as I tried to imagine what could have possibly happened that required his presence for such a long amount of time.

I was a master at playing possum, and I employed my best tactics when I heard him open the bedroom door. I didn't want him to know that although I had gone to bed at ten; worry had kept me awake, straining my ears to hear his key turning in the doorknob. We hadn't been sharing a bed for very long, but I found myself unable to sleep without him by my side.

I heard him showering, feigning sleep once more as he entered the bedroom, bringing along his smell of clean and of sandalwood. I had purposefully made it where he couldn't slide in behind me, which was how he liked to sleep, with me held tight in his arms. It was petty of me to deny him that, but I was nursing a little bit of hurt feelings, and knew that I had that one weapon that I could use against him. I didn't think at the time about the stupidity of my actions, ignoring the fact that I was hurting myself as much as I was hurting him.

I heard him groan as he slid under the covers, and I worried that he had either hurt himself in some fashion, or that someone had hurt him. I was all set to touch him, to see if he was in need of any assistance, but then I heard him breathing deeply, and I heard him murmur my name, and in that moment I realized what it was that was paining him, and I knew that he was definitely in need of a little comfort.

He had introduced me to seduction these past few days, throwing me headlong into the arousal, both the building and culmination of pleasure, and he had satisfied me fully every night...well, several times throughout the day, to be exact...but in all those times he had never removed any clothing, neither his nor mine, and he hadn't allowed me to return the favor to him at any time, insisting that his hand would suffice where his own needs were concerned. I had gone along with his wishes, despite the fact that I wanted and needed to see to his desires, but that was going to come to an end right now. Perhaps it was too soon to take things "all the way", but I swore to myself that the night before had been his last where he would turn to his own hand for comfort, while I was there, ready and willing, to take the matter in my own hands, so to speak.

I'm sure that it was quite a shock for him when I rolled up behind him and reached down to take hold of his manhood. His pants acted as a protective barrier, denying me the feel of his flesh against mine, but I didn't want to be too bold, knowing that he would need some time to adjust to the fact that I had my hands wrapped around his cock. Normally I would have been too shy to grab hold of him the way that I had, but the groan that escaped him as I had pressed my lips against the strength of his back muscles had emboldened me to act more aggressively.

He had already been flooded, engorged with his arousal, but I still managed to stir him even further, growing damp at the feel of him in my hand, both turned-on and intimidated by the weight and dimensions that I caressed lovingly. He then turned over quickly, making it necessary for me to remove my hand or risk injuring him, and my breath froze, my heart stopped and even time itself seemed to stand still as he hungrily took hold of my lips, kissing me in a way that bespoke of pent-up emotions.

His lips sought mine as a man dying of thirst would reach for water, his tongue forceful and commanding as it swooped into my mouth, tasting me as though it were the first time. It would seem that my boldness had bolstered him to a level of need that I hadn't ever seen in him, and I gasped with surprise into his mouth as his hand sought the bodice of my nightie, his hands rending the material as though it were something that offended him with its presence. My breasts were bared to him for the first time and he released my mouth, studying the newfound bounty of naked flesh intently. His hands rose to my chest once more, but there was a gentleness in his touch, a tender touch, feather light on my skin as he cupped first one breast and then the other.

His palms were deliciously calloused, a roughness against the soft satin of the skin that he stroked, causing my nipples to swell and ache. I shimmied helplessly on the bed's surface, thinking that my breasts had reached their height of awareness, but that thought fled when he bent his head to take a nipple into his mouth. I had barely adjusted to the idea of anyone touching my breast at all, and now I was shown how delightful it was to feel that warm wetness of his mouth, the silken caressing of his tongue, the gentle nips and scrapes of his teeth as he sucked the nubbin of hardened flesh.

I writhed beneath his ministrations, whimpering as the ache that beat between my legs intensified, wanting him to touch me there, to release me as he had so many times in the past few days, but his hand continued to cup the breast that wasn't being lavished with attention by his mouth. He released the first nipple, and took possession of the second, and I wondered if it was possible to find my peak from the feel of his mouth on my breasts. I closed my eyes, losing myself in the sensations flooding me, in the swirls of color that danced across the lids of my eyes, blues turning to reds as my lust continued to grow.

His hand that had been caressing my breast was sliding down, tickling my tummy, and I was a little self-conscious to have him touching me there. It was outrageously stupid to be concerned about my belly being too soft considering that he had his mouth on my boob, but I was worried about those extra couple of pounds that had centered themselves in my midsection.

If he did think that I was a tiny bit softer than I ought to be he kept those thoughts to himself, his hand traveling down and around the part of me that was aching for him to caress the silky skin of my inner thighs, rubbing gently for a few moments before raising to take hold of the front of my panties, the material ripped from me just as my nightie had been.

"Damn it Jack," I tried to hiss, but managed only an exasperated gasp. "That was a brand new set that you just ruined." It was stupid to be concerned about my wardrobe at a time like this, especially since my nethers were now completely on display, but I had been rather fond of that particular set, thinking that they looked sexy on my body.

He raised his head to look at me, making me moan as the cool air hit my abandoned nipple. "They were in my way," he explained, running his finger lightly along the swollen contours of my most intimate flesh, causing me to momentarily lose the ability to breathe, let alone to think or speak. He continued to watch me hungrily; his eyes alight with the same passion that was crashing through my body, tearing down any walls that might have remained, casting away any doubt that may have caused me to second-guess whether he wanted me as much as I wanted him.

His finger stroked through the dampness that had escaped me, delving a little deeper, and I bit down hard on my lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to spill forth from me. "Oh no you don't," Jack whispered, running his finger upward to caress the bundle of nerves that had assisted in each pleasuring that he had brought me before this night, but had never received his direct attention before that moment. That touch brought out the whimper, there was no way that I could avoid it, and Jack smiled as I vocalized my need, and my pleasure, rewarding me with several more strokes as his middle finger sought my entrance, teasing and testing the tightness and the resiliency of the delicate half-moon membrane that safeguarded my innocence.

I had been completely inexperienced where intimacy between a man and a woman were concerned, but I was knowledgeable about the construction of my body, at least I thought so, and I stiffened for just a moment, thinking that he intended to plunder through my maidenhead, but then I realized that he would never do something like that, and I made myself relax and concentrate on this new, thrilling experience.

His touch on my straining bundle of pleasure became more insistent, heightening my arousal even farther, and I waited for him to place a finger inside me, but he seemed content with a light exploration of the doorway, concentrating his direct attention on the tiny nubbin that had nearly reached the limit of its endurance.

"Please Jack," I begged, treading the verge of release, pleading with him to have mercy on me and push me fully over the edge. He bent his head to take hold of my nipple, the pull of his mouth harmonizing with the stroke of his finger, and that's when it happened. He didn't just push me into the precipice, he picked me up and threw me, headlong into the void, and I loved every moment of it.

Intense pleasure, more forceful than I would have thought possible seized me and no amount of restraint on my part could stifle my cries of pleasure. How could it be possible, for the intensity that I was sure must be the absolute that was possible, had just been taken out by the orgasm coursing through me at that moment. If things continued to grow, to progress in this fashion, then I was sure to die when things culminated once we were joined.

He continued to stroke me, not content that I'd found fulfillment until tears streamed from my eyes and my voice was hoarse from screaming. He slowly withdrew from my body, and I felt a crimson flush of embarrassed pleasure course through me as he stuck his finger, which was covered with the nectar of both my lust and my climax, into his mouth. He didn't just taste my essence, he licked it from his finger like someone would lick off ice cream that had melted and run down onto their digit, and my embarrassment heightened as he raised the finger to his nose, drawing in the scent as though it were some sort of exotic perfume.

He smiled wickedly as he took notice of the flush that was covering me from head-to-toe, and then kissed me softly, drawing me up into the hold of his arms so that we could drift off to sleep, the same way that he did every night. I could see the proof of his own arousal, standing proudly beneath the cover of his pants, and I knew that he would wait for me to fall asleep, and then he would slip out to the bathroom, taking his lust in hand and fulfilling his needs himself, but I'd be damned if I was going to allow that any longer.

I reached my hands into the waistband of his pants and started to pull them down off of him. I was going to pleasure him, and I was going to see all of him while I did so. He tried to stop me, telling me that it wasn't necessary, but his heart wasn't in the argument.

"You have denied me the pleasure of repaying you in kind for the last time, sweetie," I said, resolutely, determined that I would have my way.

"Oh, alright," he answered, trying in vain to sound as though he were being forced to humor me. "I'm through trying to reason with you about this, my wanton minx."

I was definitely in foreign waters as I revealed Jack in all his glory, wondering how something could have swollen to that size and not be painful. I hesitantly placed my hand on him, marveling both at the softness of the skin and at the heated pulsing that was running beneath the surface. His eyes closed and he hissed between teeth that were clenched as I closed my fingers around him, running my hand up and down, gently stroking the length of him. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but he had grown even harder as I caressed him, and I realized he was growing closer to his own release.

I kept a steady rhythm, emboldened by the gasps and groans slipping from his lips, a litany of my name, of his love for me, and pleas that I wouldn't stop. I wanted to pleasure him fully, and I was also curious, and that led me to bend my head down, to gently touch him with my lips, and a strangled whimper erupted from him as he plummeted into his own precipice. He tried to pull away from me as burst after burst of release exploded from him, but I took my cue from what he'd done earlier, and savored him, my hand continuing to massage him until he was completely spent.

I cuddled beside him, caressing his trembling body as he calmed, and he placed a hand against my face, raising me to meet his gaze. "Do you have any idea how much I love you?" he whispered, his voice raw from the force of his orgasm. "Please tell me that you know that I'd do anything for you."

I smiled, and kissed him gently. "If it's half as much as I love you, then I've got a pretty good idea," I answered. "And I know that you'd do anything for me, just like I'd do anything for you."

I had seen him happy many times since we'd met, but this was the most content that I'd ever seen him, and I promised myself that I'd do whatever I could every day to keep that look on his face, where it belonged.


	7. Mine All Mine

Chapter Seven

Mine All Mine

Jack's POV

I can see why he is drawn to her, addicted to her more than any woman who has ever passed through his life before. Men like him are always seeking the perfect woman to gratify them, to make them feel virile and indestructible. Pretty wasn't enough...she had to be beautiful. Kindness wasn't necessary...who wanted personality when you could have head turning temptation and a tireless sexual machine writhing beneath you?

His wife was a classically stunning woman, the perfect mate for him, the woman who took care of his household and had borne his children, but she was getting older, and men like him tired of their toys once they had some wear on them. Dainty's sister had captivated him for some time, a woman who was attractive and needy, which was what men like him wanted, but she had grown too attached, too dependent on him...not to mention too old...and he had swiftly traded her in for a younger, shinier model.

With his appetite for young, beautiful women, it wasn't hard to see why Rizzuto had courted the favor of Francesca Lipari. She was everything that he could want in a new lover. He was sure to be the envy of every man around him, considering that none of them possessed any emotions that didn't originate above the waist. The loss of Jelly Belly had been devastating to him, I'm sure, but the loss of affection and devotion from the stunning Francesca would be a severe blow that would tear at him and offer me a sweeter dose of revenge by far.

After several days of reconnaissance I discovered that while Francesca appeared beloved by most who knew her, there was one who not only hated her, but more than likely wished her dead. Well, I suppose there were two, if you counted Violet's sister, but she wasn't who I was referring to. Francesca had an older sister, Cecily, who had been engaged to marry a very handsome, very affluent man a couple of years back. Cecily was a good-looking woman, very pretty as a matter of fact, but she didn't possess the whomp, bam, boom cock grabbing splendor that surrounded Francesca, and it hadn't taken much convincing on Frannie's part to convince the man that she was the better catch. It's amazing what a naked woman can convince a man to do, especially if she's naked and sprawled out on the man's bed, all but begging him to take her hard and to take her fast...not that I have any personal experience with that sort of thing.

Long story short, Mr. Big Shot had dropped Cecily and had taken up with Francesca, desperate with the need to have the vixen that had so thoroughly captured his, uh, heart. Cecily had sworn revenge on both of them, and wouldn't you know it, shortly after that her ex-fiancé had turned up dead, his cock and balls crammed down his throat...yeech. I guess all of that about Hell having no fury where scorned women were concerned had some truth to it after all. Thus far, Francesca still lived and breathed, which was in my advantage since I intended to use her as part of my next plan of attack on Rizzuto.

She didn't just walk, she strolled, the unhurried measure of someone who was used to the world moving at her pace, those around her doing whatever they could to make sure that she needed nor wanted for anything...what a spoiled little brat. There was a time that I would have laid eyes on her and would have wanted her, during the time when my cock made those sorts of decisions for me, even though my brain and heart should have been firmly in charge. That was the time before a good woman had entered my life and for some reason, against all reason, she had wanted me. Now that I knew what a first-class woman was like, switching back to silicone enhanced sluts like Francesca would be like downgrading from Prime Rib to Spam.

I had gathered all the intelligence that I needed on Francesca...if you could actually apply that word anywhere near that vacuous twit...and had a short errand to run before I headed home to my dainty little girl. I felt guilty for leaving her alone so much, and I appreciated that she didn't question me on my whereabouts. I had come to the conclusion that she could use company, and had thought of a friend who could spend time with her, someone that I wouldn't be jealous of. I suppose that it was silly of me to even consider covetousness where Violet was concerned, after all, I was in no doubt of her attachment and her devotion to me, but I wasn't quite ready to share her any more than I had to at this point. I would bring her a new friend, but I would be sure to make it someone that she'd like less than me.

Violet's POV

There were times when I hated the rain, such as when it was accompanied by cold weather, or when I was already feeling blue, but today was different. This was a soft, melodious rain, a perfect complement to an afternoon nap, lazily whiling away the hours while I waited for my Jack to return. I had opened the windows, eager to experience the cool, moist breeze, and I indulged in the guilty pleasure of the chill as it brushed across my chest, in a soft and intimate caress, causing my nipples to tighten. I had been suffering from unfulfilled desire all through the day, having been denied my after lunch morsel of Jack, and I longed for him to return and ease the ache that intensified with every moment that passed by without him.

My heart leapt when I heard the front door open and close, and I jumped up from the couch, racing to the foyer to throw myself into his arms, but all I found was a box with a big purple bow attached, and I wondered where he could have gone to. I knew he had to have left the box there; it wasn't as though someone else had been able to, so I figured that he must have forgotten something outside.

I approached the box cautiously, knowing that I should wait for him, that I had no business opening the container myself, but I couldn't help being curious about what was inside, since it was wrapped up like a present. Gifts to me from my Jack were nothing new, to be honest he spoiled me, but this would be the largest present that I had ever received from him, if the box was a true indication of what was inside.

I stopped a foot short of the box, bending down to examine it closer, and a scream of terror tore from my lips as the box moved towards me. I don't know what I had expected the present to do, but I certainly hadn't anticipated that, and I turned to run when the thing that was alive within the box whimpered mournfully, and then barked at me.

"I think she's going to detonate if you don't open that box soon."

Jack's voice communicated his amusement over my distress, and I whirled around to see him squatting down by the entry of the kitchen. He had entered the house, leaving the box for me to find, then had hidden himself from view, the little sneak.

"You scared me half to death Jack," I hissed, turning back to look at the box that was now trembling as a burst of yips started anew, the pitch of yelping growing sharper as the little one demanded that its presence be acknowledged.

"Don't even joke about that," he answered angrily, a tone that I'd never heard before, well, at least, never directed at me. "That will never be an option for you, not as long as I'm around."

I hadn't even thought about what I'd said, it was just one of those things that people did without thinking. It was obvious by the look on his face, however, that I should watch what I said in the future.

"I'm sorry sweetie," I said, turning from the box to walk towards him, but the little whiner inside must have heard my departure and its wailing intensified to a level that bespoke of heartrending misery, at the very least. Jack looked towards the box, grabbing his ears dramatically, and begged me to let the beast out before his eardrums ruptured.

I bent down in front of the box, slowly untying the bow, and watched the cardboard that was shaking in a way that reminded me of something that was just about to explode nervously, fearful that it might explode before I had a chance to open it.

"Careful Dainty," Jack told me, standing, and then backing towards the wall. "She's kind of slobbery and very, uh, enthusiastic."

I didn't have time to back up once I'd untied the ribbon, the top of the box burst open and I was nearly knocked flat on my back by a wiggly, and yes, slobbery, mass of chocolate brown that would have resembled a sweet-faced Labrador were she to stand still long enough.

I finally managed to wrap my arms around her, and received many swipes of a warm and sticky tongue across both cheeks and then one particularly nasty lick that explored the inside of my mouth, which made me gag.

"It's a good thing she's a girl doggie," Jack said, snickering while I retched. "If a male had done that I might have been a little jealous."

"Hardee-har-har," I replied, wiping the sticky goo off of my mouth. I looked sternly at my new present, but my determination to appear hardhearted died a quick death as I stared into sweet blue-grey doggie eyes, which were glued onto mine, and I would have sworn that she actually looked repentant.

She had a purple ribbon tied around her neck, which had a heart shaped piece of paper attached to it. There was something written on the paper, which I assumed was a gift tag.

_I've seen roses that are red; it breaks my heart when my baby girl is blue._

_Today, tomorrow, for all time, my heart will belong to you._

My eyes teared up, and a huge lump formed in my throat. There was no denying that my Jack was a romantic man, and he had a seemingly magical ability to always show me that I was special to him. "Oh, Jack," I said, feeling like a ninny as the tears started to spill down my cheeks.

"Oh crap," Jack whispered, looking stricken as he stared at me. "I told that dog that you wouldn't like that poem. I tried to stop her from writing it, but she wouldn't listen to me."

I stood up and walked over to where he was standing, looking dejected and forlorn. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and stood on my tiptoes to press a kiss on his lips. "Yeech Dainty," he said, wiping the back of his hand across his lips. "Doggie slobbers are swimming with germs."

I smiled and kissed him once more, parting his lips and inviting his tongue out to play so that he could fully share in the drool and the germs. He whimpered deep in his throat, pulling me up close in his arms. Our bodies heated, and we forgot all about our houseguest until she jumped between us, breaking apart our embrace. "Meddlesome mutt," Jack hissed, pushing her away with his foot.

"Be nice to the baby," I chided, bending down to scratch between her ears. "She wants attention just the same as you do."

"I doubt that," he muttered, but the irritation of his voice was belied by the softness in his eyes as he bent to pet her as well.

"Did you get her any food?" I asked, looking around for any other packages that may have escaped my notice.

"Yes, Violet," he answered exasperatedly, pointing to a box just inside the kitchen. "I'm not a complete imbecile, you know."

I narrowed my eyes at him, refusing to dignify that remark with an answer, and opened the box of doggie goodies to dig out the bowls for food and water. I provided her with an unappetizing, at least to me, meal of beef and liver chunks in gravy, and she pounced on it as though I had offered her a rib-eye steak. Jack stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching me closely, and I walked over to him, sliding my arms around his waist once more.

"I loved the poem sweetie," I said, running my hands in circles against his back. His body melted against me, breath that had been pent-up inside him escaping in a whoosh of relief.

"I told her that you would...the mutt, you know...but she said that it would be way too mushy and gooey. I said that she didn't know anything about what human women like, and that my poetry was _flowery_, not mushy or gooey."

I laughed and hugged him closer, rubbing my nose against his chest. He smelled heavenly, just as he always did. I felt him stiffen for a moment, and I pulled back to look at him, wondering what could be wrong now. He didn't hold my eyes as he normally would; instead his gaze darted back and forth, all around the room as though he were nervous about something.

"What's the matter sweetie?" I asked, worried that something bad had happened, and he was afraid to tell me.

"I got something else today," he whispered, his eyes still shifting from one thing to another. "But I'm afraid to show it to you, because I'm afraid that you'll get mad at me."

I calmed a little at this, having prepared myself for something horrible. "I won't get mad at you," I answered. "I promise."

His eyes moved towards me, holding my gaze directly as he reached inside his coat and removed a small box of...condoms. He swallowed with what looked to be some difficulty, obviously waiting for me to tear into him. I had to admit that he caught me completely off guard, after all he had seemed dead set against the "all the way" thing, but I certainly wasn't upset by the sight of those prophylactics...I was thrilled.

I backed away from him slowly, my hand clutching his tightly. "Well, are we going to stand here and look at that box, or are we going to put what's inside of it to good use?"

Jack's POV

I was dumbfounded for a moment, but recovered quickly as her words sank in, and the fact that she seemed willing, eager, even, to be with me. I swept her up in my arms, bridal style, and hurried toward our bedroom, doing my best to walk and not run. I had been so worried that she would be disgusted by what I had in mind, that I'd be pushing her too far, too fast. I had fought with my continuous hunger for her, against my appetite growing more voracious with each passing day, and I wasn't sated, wasn't fulfilled with holding all of my needs at bay any longer.

I had argued with myself that I was rushing things, that I should buck up and employ a little self-restraint, but the contention fell on deaf ears where my manhood was concerned. That part of me put up a very persuasive rationale that while Violet and I enjoyed numerous daily dalliances, they weren't quite proficient at "scratching the itch", shall we say, to the fullest extent any longer. To put it crudely, I was a famished man, and the only thing that would satisfy my hunger rested between my Dainty's thighs, and I wanted to enjoy it in a new fashion. I wanted to sample her, to see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled. I needed to feel her warmth, her wetness on my most intimate flesh, to feel her silken clutch grasp me rhythmically as we culminated our desire for one another. I yearned for her to tell me she loved me as I crossed her threshold, watching her eyes go blind as I swept her toward her release.

Violet's untouched entrance and the fact that I would be causing her some amount of pain along with the pleasure I hoped I'd bring her was a nearly overwhelming fear for me. I had zero experience where deflowering virgins was concerned, and I'd had horrifying visions of damaging her in ways that were irreparable running through my head since I'd purchased the contraceptives. I'd briefly considered purchasing some of the "makes her hot, makes her come" lubricant in addition to the condoms, but such a purchase would have been a definite blow to my virility. If I wasn't capable of providing adequate foreplay to arouse her enough that she could supply her own lubrication, and then if I was incapable of providing her with an orgasm, I determined that I had no business making love to her.

The bed was made, everything neat and in its place when we reached the bedroom. The air was cool, damp from the afternoon showers, and Violet shivered a little, goose bumps breaking on her arms. I hoped to put a few of those on her body myself before I was through, and I slowly laid her down on the bed, my blood heating as I saw the flesh of her bared thighs, the material of her dress providing an immodest amount of cover, and a jolt of need seized me as I saw that she wasn't wearing any panties either.

It probably would have been more romantic to start things off with a gentle kiss on her mouth, but there was a curiosity in me that demanded to be heard, and I kneeled on the bed between her thighs, nearly choking on my need to taste her. She must have recognized the look in my eyes, the one that meant that her clothes were just about to be ruined, because she sat up quickly and drew the dress up and off of her body. I tore at my own clothes, jumping off the bed to remove my pants, and then knelt once more between her thighs, the box of condoms waiting an easy distance from the bed.

She was so pretty, such a weak descriptive, really, but I wasn't really in the mood at that moment to think of a stronger one. I lay down on the bed, my head resting between her soft and silky thighs, and surveyed that which belonged to me, that was mine for the taking, and wondered how a weirdo like me had ever managed to get so lucky. My hands traced over her warm flesh, gently parting her legs, so that there wouldn't be any hindrances to my explorations, and after softly, lingeringly tracing my lips over each thigh, delivered the most intimate kiss that a man could give to a woman.

Her fingers had twined in my hair as I'd ran my mouth along her thighs, and they gripped and held the strands, very hard, as I began to introduce her to what I hoped would be a satisfying round of lip service. In this way I was just as much of a virgin as she was, because I'd never had any desire to engage in any oral arrangements with any of my past conquests, and I suppose that was the difference right there…Violet wasn't just faceless, nameless conquest, she was my lover, the only one that I ever intended to have.

I found that it was a habit that I could quickly become accustomed, possibly even addicted, to. I enjoyed the taste of her, but even more than that, I loved the way that she clung to me, the way that she moved beneath my mouth, and I especially savored the sounds that I brought forth from her, the tiny, breathless whimpers that grew in strength, in intensity, until she was crying out in ecstatic abandonment, and her cries of release reverberated all throughout the room, leaving me with no doubts that I had satisfied her completely.

Now was the moment, now was the perfect time to proceed, while she was panting and sated and primed to receive me. My hands were weak, and awkward as I jerked the condom into place, and I moved to lie between her thighs, running my mouth, and my teeth, and my tongue, over her neck, nibbling and tasting and teasing, closing my eyes tight as I slowly and surely made my way inside of her silken warmth, gritting my teeth in a desperate bid to keep control of myself, so that I wouldn't be rough, or careless, or a perfectly selfish bastard who was determined to release himself before she'd found her own moment.

Now, I don't want to sound like I'm conceited, but I knew that mine was a large penis, and I knew that I'd hurt her, and it was the most difficult thing that I'd ever had to face. What in hell had I been thinking? My prowess at foreplay had been a joke this time around, because I'd only scratched the surface of what was possible before I'd moved on to the main event, and I deserved to feel like a worm. I could hear each hitch in her breathing, I could feel each suppressed sob, and I welcomed the guilt that accompanied those revelations, knowing that I didn't deserve her, that I was unworthy of her, and that if she was to leave me it would be the best thing that she could do for herself.

"Do you want me to stop, Dainty?" I whispered, knowing, even as I made the offer, that it would be a personal hell for me to do so, but that was what I deserved. "Just say the word as I'll leave you alone, I'll stay away from you until, well, that is, _if_ you want me….."

"I do want you, sweetie," she said, reaching up with her hands to take hold of my cheeks, running her thumbs over my hated, cursed scars. "And why would I want you to stop now, when we haven't finished what we started. I just want you to kiss me, Jack. I'm hurting right now, but a kiss would make me feel better…your kisses always make me feel better."

Of _course_ a kiss would make her feel better. What sort of jag off went about loving a woman without the benefit of at least one kiss? It would seem that I was more of a douchebag than what I'd originally believed, but if she wanted me to stay as I was, if she didn't want me to stop, hell, if she just wanted me period then I was going to make certain that I did things right from there on out, and poured every last bit of my love and devotion into the kiss that I gave her in that moment, cherishing and savoring her lips as though I'd never done so before.

Moments passed while we tasted one another, starting slowly and building until we were both feverish and desperate for the contact with the other, and that was when she began to move, tentatively searching out a rhythm with me, and I gritted my teeth against the inevitable rush of heat that swept through me because of the shy ebb and flow, the grasp and the release as she took the reins firmly in her small hands.

In all of my previous experiences I'd never wanted to look at the face of the one that I was with, I never wanted to read their emotions in their eyes or watch as they were plunged into ecstasy, but this was different. I stared down into Violet's eyes as I made love to her and reveled in what I saw staring back at me, from the deep depths of her soul. I lost myself in all of her emotions, and basked in the knowledge that I was just as priceless to her as she was to me, that we weren't two lovers anymore, but one consciousness, moving together in symmetry.

I watched her eyes brighten, then grow slumberous, only to widen, moments before they went blind and she wound her legs around my waist and grasped hold of my shoulders, then my hair as she cried out, over and over again, pushing me toward my own moment, and I was shocked to hear my own shouts of ecstasy join and mingle with hers in a chorus all our own, hanging still in the air, then gradually dying away to the sounds of gasps and murmured sighs of contentment.

My heart was pounding in my ears and I was gasping for breath as I fell down beside her on the bed, grabbing her up in my arms, kissing her everywhere that I could reach. "I love you so much," I whispered, capturing her lips tenderly. She kissed me back, moaning quietly as she turned on her side, muscles that hadn't really been used before today, at least not in the way that we had just used them, protesting the movement. "I love you too sweetie," she murmured.

We were both completely relaxed by this time, and were beginning to drift off to sleep when a pitiful whimper sounded from the floor beside the bed. I hadn't even thought about the dog being in the house...my mind had been just a little preoccupied, and I certainly hadn't known that she had entered the bedroom. I was a little uncomfortable about the idea of her watching us, mostly watching my naked backside, for all that time. I rarely blushed, it just wasn't my style, but I knew my face was red as I leaned over to meet the all-seeing puppy eyes of our new roommate.

"She ate my shorts," I whispered disbelievingly. "You fed her that dog food, and she came here and ate my underwear for dessert."

Violet sat up in the bed to look down at the mutt, laughing hysterically at the sight of the little beast, who managed to look both angelic and demonic at the same time, with purple silk shreds of what remained of my boxers hanging out of her mouth.

"Oh the poor wittle baby," Violet cooed, causing the mutt to grow even more doe-eyed. "She was lonely and we probably scared her out of her mind with the racket that we were making."

I turned my head to look at her, certain that she had just gone completely around the bend. "Are you suggesting that she was terrified by the "racket" as you said, and her reaction was to attack my boxer shirts...in self-defense?"

She giggled again, taking a good amount of enjoyment from my growing temper. "Yeah, something like that," she answered. "Why don't you let her in the bed so she knows that everything's okay and that we still love her."

_Love_ the dog...was she actually serious? "I bought her a bed to sleep in," I replied peevishly. "Besides which, you're naked, I'm naked, and that's just freaky."

"She can sleep on top of the covers," she answered in a no-nonsense tone that told me she'd made her mind up and that was that. "Besides which, it's not like she knows that we're naked, sweetie."

I closed my eyes and counted to ten, gathering my self-control. It wasn't like I was bothered by the thought of the beast seeing me naked; it was the thought that she might see my dangling...uh, appendage...and decide that it was one of her new chew toys. I knew it was a moot point, and that Violet was using the advantage of post loving glow to bend me to her will. In the end I reached down and hoisted the mutt up into the bed, with a warning for her not to pee or poo in the bed, and also to keep her tongue, teeth, paws...everything...to herself.

I left the bed momentarily to cleanse myself, and get a washcloth for Violet, and after everything had been put back in order, I returned to find my Dainty fast asleep on her pillow, which was to be expected, and that mutt laying on my side of the bed, her head on my pillow, fast asleep as well. I was tempted to boot her out now that Violet was asleep, but I just couldn't muster the cruelty necessary to do so, and though I pissed and moaned plenty about the little beast beneath my breath, I took my place in the center of the bed.

I soon found myself the official cuddly teddy bear to the girls, both the one that I was in love with and the little intruder, who seemed to adore me in spite of my best efforts to push her away. They both clung to me tightly and I realized that I was loved, I was wanted and needed, and I was the center of the universe as far as these two were concerned. What more could a man ask for than that?


	8. A Smile That Won't Fade

Chapter Eight

A Smile That Won't Fade

Flashback: Jack, age 13

She was sitting with me in the living room, listening as I read her favorite poem aloud.

"_And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain..."_

Her arm, which had been tight across my shoulders, holding me close as I read to her, grew limp, and I turned to see that she was sleeping. There was a peace on her face at times like this, when her soul felt free to escape the disguise it wore at all times when the one who hurt her was near. I wished that I could alleviate her concerns; I wished that I was able to rescue her, but he was too strong for me. I felt like a failure each and every time I saw her with a newly blackened eye, with her beautiful mouth broken and bloody, while she did her best to comfort my fears and assure me that no matter what happened she would always love me.

I stood up and bent down to pick her up, knowing that if she were to sleep on the couch that she'd awaken with a sore back and neck. She had chastised me in the past for carrying her, saying that it wasn't necessary for me to do so, but in the end she had relented when she saw that I had no intention of stopping.

I hated going into their bedroom, I hated the smells that clung to every surface, the fear that seemed to permeate every corner, the harsh odor of the other one's sadistic need to cause pain, the rank trace of the indignities that had been forced upon her, a woman who was so beautiful and so good, and mixed in liberal doses amongst the miasma were the thick fumes of alcohol, the cologne of choice for the one who took so much pleasure in hurting those around him.

I put her down gently on the bed, pulling the covers up tight around her shoulders so that she wouldn't catch a chill, and had retreated from the room that caused a different sort of chill to trickle down my back, the hated anxiety that seized me when I thought of what might happen if I was to be forced into another confrontation with the one person I hated...the one person who I was terrified of.

I had just pulled the door shut, taking care to be as quiet as possible, when the other bedroom door opened, and the one that I loved second-best of all stepped out, rubbing her eyes and yawning. Her name was Jilly...that's twisted huh, Jack and Jilly...but I always referred to her as my cuddly moppet. He had been the one that suggested that we be named after characters in a nursery rhyme, thinking that what happened to Jack and Jill was tremendously funny.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," I said, bending to pick her up and carry her back into our bedroom. Most people would say that it was creepy for a thirteen year old boy to share a bedroom with his six year old sister, and they were right in their estimate that it was unnatural, but there were no other rooms to be had, and I hated leaving her by herself, never sure that she was safe unless I was close by. Also, let me assure you that I certainly never had any sick fantasies about my baby sister, and I'd happily eviscerate anyone who suggested otherwise.

"I woke up and the tree was watching me again," she answered, burying her face against my neck as she started to cry. I patted her back and shushed her, comforting her for what seemed like the hundredth time. She was terrified of the dead tree outside our window, with its gnarled branches and decaying bark, swearing again and again that it turned into a hunched old man when no one else was watching, and that the old man always told her that he watched her closely, and that one day he would sneak into the bedroom and get her. I'd tried to convince her, unsuccessfully, that it was just a dead tree, which couldn't hurt her, but no matter what I said, I just couldn't persuade her to believe me.

"I'll tell you what I'll do Moppet," I said, kissing her cheek as I smoothed her hair back from her face. "I'll cut that tree down, first thing tomorrow, and then you'll never have to worry about seeing it outside the window again."

Her crying stopped and she looked at me intently. "But he said he'd kill you if you ever tried to touch the tree again," she answered, fear entering her eyes, the type of panic a small child should never have knowledge of.

"Don't worry about him," I whispered, doing my best to sound brave. "He'll be drunk when he comes in and won't know it's gone."

I had tried to cut the tree down three months before, while he was out, but he'd returned earlier than I'd expected. He was in a rage because he'd lost all of his money on a bet, and the bartender had refused to allow him to put any drinks on a tab, knowing all too well that my father would never pay back the money. Long story short, he'd found me with the axe, poised over the tree and had flown into a rage. Apparently he thought that the tree had lots of character, and had taken it personally that I intended to cut it down, just because some "whiny bitch" was scared of it.

I held my sister in my arms, remembering that day, and how angry I had been with him, for mocking my baby sister and for blowing all of his money on some stupid bet. Of course, if it hadn't been on a bet, it would've gone for liquor, and either way, we would be going hungry that week. If I hadn't gotten so upset I wouldn't have dared to talk back to him, but my temper fueled my tongue to act foolishly, and I had wised off about him being a worthless drunk who never took care of his responsibilities.

I had felt the first punch, the one that had knocked me off of my feet, but the rest pummeled me without my notice because he had knocked me unconscious. I woke in my bed some hours later, my mother's face hovering over me as she caressed my hand, her face covered with brand-new cuts and bruises. She had tried to protect me, had placed herself directly in his path, and had received a beating of her own for her interference.

I hated him, just as I hated our neighbors, who would never call the police, to corroborate my story that my father was abusing us. See, I had reported him, time and again, but the cops never did anything against him...I guess that "bond of brotherhood" crap was something they took very seriously.

I shook my mind free of the memories, stubbornly holding back my own tears so that I wouldn't upset Jilly, and had tucked her back into her bed with a whisper of good-night, standing back to watch her as her eyes fluttered shut.

The room went dark as something crashed into the back of my head and then I had slumped to the ground, my baby sister's scream reverberating through me before everything went black.

...He was humming when I regained consciousness, sounding very happy, and fear so strong that it made me want to vomit welled up inside of me. He was never this happy unless he'd hurt someone, and my own injuries weren't substantial enough to warrant this amount of joy.

I tried to sit up, to look for my mom and my sister, but the room started spinning and a horrible ache seized me as I tried to raise myself, and I dropped back down to the floor with a groan of pain.

"All awake now Jack-in-the-Box?" the bastard asked in a singsong voice. "Well, that's good because I've got a surprise for you in the other room."

He hauled me up off of the floor, snickering as I tried to suppress another moan of pain. "You were a bad boy again," he said. "And bad boys have to be punished so that they can learn to be good boys again."

He dragged me towards the living room and the throbbing in my head worsened with each step he took. "What have you done to Mom and Jilly?" I asked, fighting to keep the fear out of my voice.

He chuckled again, a maniacal sound rife with cruelty. "That bitch is always so depressing, shuffling around this house, never happy, and her gloom was wearing off on the little bitch as well, so I fixed them."

We entered the living room, which was still gloomy despite the rising sun. I could see that there were two people sitting on the couch, a big person and a little person, and knowing that they had to be Mom and Moppet I started to stumble towards them, but my father stopped me by grabbing hold of my arm.

"No, no you dummy," he said, pulling me towards him. "That would ruin the surprise." I didn't know what surprise he was talking about, and truth be told, I didn't want to know. I had seen him do things that were unimaginably evil, and it scared me to ponder what depths of depravity he was capable of.

He reached over and flipped on the light, flooding the room with illumination, and what I saw on the couch, what had been done to my loved ones, caused me to scream, something I hadn't done in years. I screamed and I sobbed, sinking to the floor while the most profound disgust and sorrow that I had ever felt in my life filled me, consumed me.

"What the hell are you caterwauling about?" he asked, smacking the side of my head, sending shock waves of agony through my skull once more. "They wouldn't ever smile at me and I fixed it. I made it to where they wouldn't have any choice but to smile from now on. I gave them both a smile that won't ever fade."

I was still crying as he hauled me up to my feet once more, leading me over to where my mom and sister were sitting, the ghoulish grins carved into their beautiful faces raw and inflamed, seeping blood onto their necks. "Don't worry, son," the monster murmured as he threw me down onto the couch. "Soon enough you'll know how to find the humor in this as well."

Violet's POV

I was wrapped up in a vision of Jack and me, sunning ourselves on a beach, when suddenly it turned into a moment straight out of _From Here to Eternity_. Jack was Burt Lancaster, pressing me, filling in for Deborah Kerr, into the sand, and kissing me passionately as wave after wave pounded onto our writhing bodies. The only difference was that Jack and I were bare-assed naked, and kissing wasn't all that we were doing in the surf.

It was all so real for me, the scent of Jack as he rode me into oblivion, the harshness of our breathing, the sea breezes passing over our wet bodies, the water of the waves, and just as I came apart beneath Jack, crying out from the intense ecstasy, another scream, both terrifying and filled with terror pulled me from my dream with a start.

I opened my eyes to find Jack sitting up in the bed, his hands gripped tightly in his hair. I reached over and touched his arm, still drowsy from being awakened so suddenly, but filled with the need to offer him some comfort. He jumped when I touched him, as though he'd forgotten that I was in the room with him, and the next thing I knew I was flung backward on the bed, one of his arms pressed against my neck while I was confronted with a knife, whose presence I hadn't even been aware of in the house, let alone in our bedroom.

His eyes were unfocused, his mind wrapped up in a memory, the remnants of which had terrified him. I knew that it wasn't my face that he was seeing, and that whoever it was that had done whatever they had to him was the one that he wanted to kill.

His arm tightened across my throat, hurting me, cutting off my ability to speak, and almost causing my breathing to cease when suddenly Jack was hit from behind and his eyes shifted in and out of focus, before meeting mine, and the look that filled them made me want to cry as he quickly moved away from me, sheathing the blade that he'd threatened me with.

The puppy had jumped onto the bed, and placed her body near me, but was turning and whining in Jack's direction as well, showing that she was protecting me, but that she was still loyal to him. I waited for him to speak, knowing that he was filled with self-disgust over what he'd done, and I longed to reassure him that everything was fine, that he hadn't really hurt me, but I was hesitant to be the one who spoke first.

He was shaking, his body shuddering as he bowed his head. I was shocked to see that there were tears flowing down his cheeks, that was something that I would have never expected to see, something that I hadn't prepared myself for the possibility of.

"Jack," I said, moving towards him on the bed, blushing as I noticed that I was naked as a newborn babe. "Sweetie, I know that you're upset, but please listen when I say that I'm not mad at you and that you didn't hurt me."

He didn't respond to what I said, he just continued crying, his hands curling into fists beside his body. "You bastard," he whispered softly, and at first I thought that he was talking to himself. "You are a malicious abomination. Look what you've done to me. You did this to me. You ruined everything you touched. You damaged them just like you damaged me. You made it to where I can't ever show any emotion. I'm always smiling. It doesn't matter if I'm happy or not. You took away my ability to frown, to show any sadness at all. You carved my face up, just because you could, and now I go around with this horrific smile on my face for the rest of my fucking life!"

His last words were wrapped up in sobs that wracked through his whole body. I was crying now as well, having some idea of who it was that he was talking to, and it tore at my heart to imagine what he had endured in his life. I wondered who he was talking about when he said "them", but now certainly wasn't the time to question him. I reached out for him, wrapping him in my arms and pulling him up close against me.

He froze for just a moment and gasped, as though he were shocked that I was touching him. He buried his face against my neck, breathing deeply, shuddering as I rubbed his shoulders and pressed myself more firmly against him. I murmured comfortingly to him, meaningless words that provided nothing but consolation, which made them especially important to him at that moment.

He nuzzled my neck hesitantly, pressing soft kisses to the flesh beneath his lips, and in spite of the emotional upheaval we had experienced I felt myself heating from his ministrations, my orgasmic dream a lingering memory between my thighs.

"Dainty," he whispered between kisses. "I'm so sorry that I did that."

"Shush," I answered, gasping as he suckled and then bit down gently on the spot where my neck connected with my shoulder. "There's nothing for me to forgive, okay?"

"There's a lot for you to forgive," he countered. "But I'll drop it if you want me to. By the way, do you know that your nipples are hard against my chest and it's about to drive me crazy...well, crazier than I already was, that is."

Of course I knew that they were hard, that they were aching, and I reached down to take hold of his hand, pressing it against my breast, biting down on my lip as a burst of sensation caused me to tighten the inner workings of my femininity.

"I wouldn't blame you," he said, closing his fingertips onto my nipple, pulling it further into a throbbing point. "I'd understand if you wanted to leave here, to leave me, and I wouldn't hold it against you."

I was too aroused to launch myself fully into anger, but I made sure that he understood that I'd had enough, and that the subject of me being angry and/or me leaving was closed. "Not another word about that Jack," I said, attempting to insert irritation into my voice, but my efforts to appear stern and commanding were foiled as he clamped his mouth onto the nipple he'd been playing with, swirling his tongue around the aching bud, sucking it between his teeth and nipping me gently.

He pulled me onto his lap and slid his hand between my legs, delving his finger into me and he growled as he traced the contours of my excited flesh, obviously pleased to find that I was so ready for him. He reached one arm around my waist, pulling me closer towards his body and with the other hand he positioned himself against my saturated center.

He slowly made his way inside, taking care as he had the night before, and I tensed for just a moment, fully expecting to feel pain once more, but it never arrived. Then he dropped his arm away from my waist and sat still, waiting for me to continue on my own, handing me the reigns and allowing me complete control over what happened next.

I froze for just a moment, unsure of what I should do, having been placed in such an unfamiliar position, but then instinct kicked in, along with my need to complete what we had started, and very hesitantly I lowered myself, pushing him more deeply inside.

As before, I felt that I was filled completely by him, almost to a point that was painful, but it was that "hurts so good" type of painful, something I'd never experienced before I met my Jack. Before him I had assumed that all pain was a bad thing, never realizing that there would be aches in my future that I would welcome, and even relish, all while feeling as though I were the only woman in the entire world who knew what it was like to feel this good.

Jack's eyes were trained on my face, still reddened from his earlier emotions, and his hands were twined in the covers, his knuckles going white, and I wondered why he was doing that to himself. I reached down to grab one hand and then the other, and placed them on my breasts. His palms chafed against nipples that had blossomed fully with my lust and I moaned, clenching my inner muscles on Jack, causing him to groan and lean his head forward, to rest his cheek against mine.

I was momentarily diverted by our little puppy, and I saw that she had removed herself from the bed, how long before that moment I wasn't sure, and was now sitting on the floor, her back politely turned away from the lascivious behavior of her new owners. I briefly wondered at the ability for a dog to have tact and manners before returning to the task at hand.

I moved cautiously to begin with, experimenting with this new position, and it wasn't long before that fire that Jack was an expert at stroking to life within me began to smolder, and my movements sped up, whimpers and moans escaping my throat, the bed frame bouncing against the wall as I rode my Jack harder and faster.

Jack was breathing harshly, groaning between teeth that were clenched tight. "Soon my Dainty," he whimpered. "Please tell me it's soon."

I knew what he meant, knew that he was just about to lose all of his control. My movements had grown frantic by this point and suddenly I shattered, crying out his name as wave after wave of release crashed through me, and Jack joined me, his own cries blending with mine as we soared together.

We clung weakly to one another afterward, as those who have survived a shipwreck might, our bodies glistening from the efforts of our exertions, our breathing slowly calming. It was then that I became aware of the presence of an odd warmth that had flowed inside of me at the moment of Jack's culmination and my eyes grew wide with shock as they sought out the little box beside the bed, the one that held the contraceptives that we hadn't used this time.

Jack zeroed in on the fact that I'd seemed to have ceased breathing, his eyes following mine to land on the box of condoms. "Does it scare you, Violet?" he asked quietly. "Are you terrified by the knowledge that I may have just sown my seed inside your womb?"

I had expected him to be angered by the fact that we had been swept away, that we hadn't taken any precautions, but that didn't seem to be what was bothering him. "That doesn't scare me," I answered, resting my hand on his face. "I wouldn't be upset if I were to be pregnant with your baby."

His eyes brightened for a moment, but then grew guarded once more. "Are you aware of what it is that you are saying, Dainty?" he asked, turning his head to kiss the palm of my hand. "You know what I'm capable of, and yet you have no idea what sort of horrors I might still have resting within me, what sort of wickedness runs freely through my veins."

I had a pretty good idea exactly what it was that he was talking about, but I also knew that the wounds were too fresh for him. They were long suppressed horrors that were starting to break free from his subconscious, and I didn't want him to push himself to face them too quickly.

"Do you want to know something true?" I asked, changing the subject, feeling the need to point something out to him that he'd obviously overlooked. "You show a lot of emotion with your eyes. I can always tell what you're feeling when I look at your eyes."

He seemed taken aback by both the change in conversation and by my revelation. What I'd said was true, I always relied on what I saw in his eyes to affirm his feelings. They were eyes that were filled with life and if he truly were a completely soulless monster, as he thought himself to be, then his eyes would be flat and dead as well.

"That is why it doesn't scare me at all," I said, leaning forward to brush my lips over each of his scars. "You've done things that you, Jack, are ashamed of. That doesn't make you a monster though, and if there is life growing in me, I'll love that child just as much as I love their father...are we clear on that?"

He nodded his head jerkily and crushed me against his chest, his hands tangling in my hair. "Thank you," he whispered, his lips searching for mine, and we passed the morning away in that bed, holding one another, comforting away any residual fears that may have remained.

Disclaimer: The line of poetry mentioned in this chapter is from _The Highwayman_, written by Alfred Noyes.


	9. When There's No One Around

Chapter Nine

When There's No One Around

Jack's POV

It would appear that Mr. Rizzuto and his stunning mistress Francesca had opted for an evening in, avoiding the prying eyes and wagging tongues that followed them whenever they set foot out and about. I mean really, what kind of sick world were we living in when a man couldn't cavort around town, wining and dining the slut that he was banging on the side while his devoted wife stayed home to tend to the needs of their children and the ins and outs of being married to such an important man? It was enough to make one lose all faith that humanity would ever be capable of pulling themselves out of the sewer that they so enjoyed swimming in, that they would ever rediscover the things in life that made survival in this world tolerable.

Well, enough of that soapbox for now...I mean, it's not as though I've conducted myself in any way that could even remotely be described as lawful and/or pristine in my lifetime. My existence had changed so much since I met my Dainty, had improved in so many ways that I'd never dreamed were possible that I was growing a little paranoid about it, always looking up at the sky, waiting for the axe that would inevitably fall on my head.

I had procrastinated about the events that would transpire this evening, content to stay at home, frolicking and having red-hot loving with my sweet baby girl. We had needed some time out of the house together, and had disguised ourselves to spend the day at the park, enjoying a picnic luncheon and playing with the newly christened mutt, Tootsie. I never would have imagined such a scenario for myself, being content with a domesticated schedule, living a life that seemed to have been taken out of one of those _Lifetime_ network movies...things that I would have considered boring and verging on turning a man into a douchebag before I made Violet's acquaintance.

I had just spent three days in a woman's near constant company, and I had still been reluctant to leave her this afternoon, wanting more than anything to take her back into our bed and have her one more time, in spite of the fact that I'd taken her twice since the sun had come up. She was so addictive, a yearning that burned within me all the time. Each time between us was magical, and it was the first time I felt that I'd never tire of someone.

Our one time without the benefit of a condom had been somewhat deliberate on my part, needing to really feel her wrapped around me, that heat and dampness that I knew would feel like dipping myself into my own personal piece of paradise. It had been comfort sex, the best consolation that she could have offered me, and I had been filled with an almost animalistic need to fill her womb with my seed, and so I had, only realizing afterward that I should have asked her permission first.

I'll admit that I was scared that she would be angry about what I'd done, until I saw that she wasn't worried about carrying my child, as a matter of fact, there'd been an almost excited look in her eyes at the prospect, I fell in love with her all over again in that moment. It was amazing and more than a little alarming how easily she forgave, how I could trust that if she said that all was well, then I had nothing to worry about. It was a dangerous thing...or at least it had proven to be in the past...to trust someone so completely.

Well, I've managed to ramble myself completely off the subject again, haven't I? I don't know why you allow me to prattle on for half an hour like some sort of feebleminded ninny. I'll expect that sort of treatment when...well, if...I'm an old man, but right now I'd appreciate it if I weren't allowed to make a complete jackass out of myself for the amusement of others, if that's not asking too much.

Now then, what was I doing? Oh yes, the evening activities of Mr. Rizzuto and the salacious Francesca. I won't test your gag reflex with a play-by-play of their...er..._lovemaking_...yeech. I think it would be safe to say that it was on par with all of the classiest...heh...pornographies available, although I have to say that if I was Tony...which I thank God every day that I'm not...I would have grown weary of the fake, and shrill, cries of ecstasy about ten seconds after Miss Lipari commenced with her "Oh Gawd Baby...Harder Honey...I'm Fucking Coming!" routine. If the brain-dead Rizzuto was aware that his lover's ardor was a sham he didn't let on and please allow me the kindness from refraining from the recap of _his _lines in the production, because I really detest vomiting.

I swear to you, it was the longest, most horrendous three minutes of my life...I may never recover, and I can only pray that my penis will recuperate sufficiently that I might properly roger my ladylove when I return home. I'm not kidding you, from foreplay...if what happened between the two of them could honestly be described as foreplay...until Tony, erm, culminated upon the chest of his lover...three minutes, tops. That's just sad and pathetic really...there should be support groups for that sort of thing.

Rizzuto headed for the restroom following their...dear God no, please don't make me say it again...interlude, and I took that as a sign that this was the perfect moment to forward my message to Francesca, a heads-up that everything wasn't copasetic with her and her main squeeze. I had employed the services of a visually stunning prostitute, no, not _those _services. Why would I pay for mundane when I have magnificent waiting for me at home? I said _visually _stunning, emotionally she had the depth of a desiccated sponge. Let's just say that she wasn't a great conversationalist and leave it at that. It hadn't taken a substantial amount of money to convince her to use her wiles against an inebriated Rizzuto, and a little boudoir photography was employed to set Tony up to lose one of his most prized possessions.

I had initially planned to use Cecily in my strategy, but I decided that she shouldn't be forced into a scenario that might drive her to make good on her threat to do away with her sister. To be honest, I hadn't been able to stomach the idea of violence being done to any woman, even one as trashy as Francesca. I guess that my Dainty had changed me in more ways than I was originally aware of.

In the end I had decided to send the photos to Francesca on her cell phone, the source leading back to a phony account held by a woman named Mae Monroe. I am not a man devoid of a sense of humor, as I'm sure that you are well aware, and it can be a rather wicked and ironic humor.

I was watching through the window as the kaka hit the fan, taking great pleasure in watching Miss Lipari launch herself onto Mr. Rizzuto's hirsute back, all sense of prissiness replaced by an animalistic rage that had her clawing and spitting like a wildcat. I would imagine that the sight of her "Tony-Wony" and his object of amore...strike that, object of sloppy and drunken coupling is more appropriate...was enough to strike fear into her young heart. I'm sure that she was wondering how she could possibly find herself replaced, how Anthony could find anyone more attractive than her. But did she honestly expect fidelity from a man who was screwing her while he was still married to another woman?

He denied it of course, but photographic evidence was difficult to argue against, in spite of the technology available to doctor said evidence. In the end Francesca believed what she had seen, rather than what she heard from her lover and the look on Rizzuto's face as she left was ten times more satisfying than it had been the night Jelly Belly was dispatched from the world.

I hadn't revealed myself to him yet, savoring the moment when I could tell him who I was and why I had done these things to him. I wanted to watch him cry, just as much as I wanted to hear him beg. It might not be lawful, some would say that it was wrong, but there truly was nothing sweeter than revenge.

Violet's POV

I was wrapped up in _Bram Stoker's Dracula_, alternating between peeking at the screen and hiding my eyes when the scary/gory parts were playing, which meant that I was missing a good deal of the film. I don't know why I did this sort of thing to myself, it wasn't as though I didn't know how I would react to a scary movie, especially since it was just me and Tootsie in the house.

I had wanted to ask Jack to stay in, for the first time I was tempted to voice my apprehension of him leaving, but I had kept my thoughts to myself in the end, not wanting to make him feel guilty. Tootsie and I had enjoyed a late afternoon grooming session, well, perhaps enjoyed isn't the correct term...endured is more like it. I had a feeling that she had endured my need to bathe and spruce her up, and there were times I genuinely had the feeling that she was humoring me, while inside she was giggling as I washed and fussed over her.

We had dinner together after that, sandwiches made from leftover roasted chicken breast for me and a can of Alpo for her, which was the intended menu, but Tootsie had flat-out refused the dog food, staring at the sandwich on my plate, chuffing at me and licking her chops. It had seemed so surreal for a moment, like she was almost speaking to me, and in an effort to either confirm or deny that theory I grabbed hold of both my plate and her doggie bowl. I offered her the beef chunks in gravy first, and she lifted her head, turning her face away from the food that she had always eaten before this moment. Next I held out my plate, the breast of chicken wedged between the bread, accompanied by cheddar cheese and Miracle Whip, and she turned her head towards the offering, eagerly barking and wagging her tail.

I wondered briefly if I had gone barking mad...clever, huh...I mean it's not as if Tootsie was actually communicating with me. I was grateful for the first time that evening to be in the house by myself, well, except for Tootsie. I could only imagine how Jack would react were he to see me standing in the kitchen, offering first the bowl, then the plate, then the bowl once more to Tootsie. I suspected that he questioned my sanity at times as it was, and there was no reason for me to make him even more suspicious. If he was skeptical of my need to push on the refrigerator door handle ten to fifteen times after I'd closed it, just to make sure it was closed, then he would definitely think I was bonkers for entertaining the possibility of dogs who could talk.

Tootsie and I had finished our meal, chicken sandwiches for both of us, and afterwards we had retired to the living room, where I had stupidly chosen to watch a scary flick as the perfect way to pass the time until Jack came back home. I was engrossed in the film, well as engrossed as one could be while they were peeking between their fingers, and Tootsie was snuggled up beside me on the couch, chuffing softly whenever one of the undead would make an appearance. I absolutely loved watching Gary Oldman take control of a scene, loved the way he moved, the way he spoke. Okay, I'll be honest...I chose the film to watch while Jack wasn't around because I had the tiniest bit of a crush on Mr. Oldman, who was devilishly sexy when he wasn't the decrepit Dracula, and I didn't want Jack to find out. He already had a hard time dealing with my obsession with Johnny Depp, and I decided that it would be best not to push him any further.

The film had almost come to an end when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, an innate survival instinct that warned when a predator was near. Tootsie started growling, a sound like none other she had made before, and I slowly looked around the room, praying that whoever or whatever was stalking me at that moment wasn't behind me, in my blind spot, poised for attack.

A dark shape coming from one of the windows beside the television caught my attention from the corner of my eye. It was a large shape, like that of a big man, and I could tell that it was watching me. My heartbeat accelerated and a chill took hold of me as I pondered my options for escape. I wasn't armed in any way that could be called significant if he was carrying a firearm. A knife and the Louisville Slugger that I had close at hand were my only choices, neither of which would mean a damn if he was packing heat.

I slowly rose to my feet, heading towards the heavy wooden bat, praying that my stalker wasn't armed with anything capable of launching a projectile, and as I grabbed it up in my hand I whirled towards the window, only to find that the peeper had fled from the spot. A person who wasn't on the run from both the law and the mob would have phoned the police, would have awaited their arrival, depending on the men in blue for their safety, but that strategy wasn't an alternative for me. I could have gone next door to seek help from Mr. and Mrs. Perkins, but while Herb and Ida seemed to be genuinely nice people I seriously doubted that they could take out an intruder, and in the end would probably prove to be more of a hindrance than a help.

That was why I made the decision to do something that in hindsight would cause me to cringe at my own stupidity. I took the baseball bat up into my hands, which were shaking almost uncontrollably, and unlocked the front door, stepping outside to have a look around. The night was still, crickets chirping and whippoorwills calling mournfully. I headed for the window where I'd seen the shape of the man watching me, my heartbeat thunderous in my ears, my terror growing with each step I took. Tootsie trotted beside me, her ears raised and her eyes watchful, and I was thankful to have the reassurance of the presence of someone who was on my side of things.

I heard a branch crack in the tree in the backyard and I jumped into the air, stifling a screech of horror that would have given me away to anyone who may have been seeking me just as I was seeking them. I stopped by the back corner of the house, gathering my wits and my faltering sense of bravery. I just had to turn the corner, and then I would be right outside of the window.

"All right you sorry son of a bitch," I called out, wincing at the shakiness of my voice. "I know you're out there watching me," I curled and relaxed my fingers on the handle of the bat, gathering strength from the solid presence of the wood in my hand. "If I were you, I'd seriously consider taking my raggedy ass off of this property before I find you and knock you into next week." My resolve was growing by this time, making me a little too mouthy for my own wellbeing. "There's a Louisville Slugger here that has the ability to mess you up real good, and I'm the bitch that's holding it."

"Well, now," a familiar voice drawled beside me, his hand shooting out to grab hold of the bat as I squeaked rather embarrassingly with fear and whirled to hit him. "I don't know about the 'sorry son of a bitch' my Dainty, but I'm definitely trembling in my boots at the idea of you 'knocking my ass into next week.'

"Damn it Jack, you scared the hell out of me," I hissed, jerking on the bat to free it from his hands. I should have known that he would arrive at just the right moment to witness me making a complete boob out of myself. If he had been home with me I would have never had to trek outside and try to confront the trespasser, but could he be there for that? Hell no, he couldn't, he just managed to make it home in time to laugh at me. "There was someone watching me you jackass," I whispered angrily, keeping my voice low in an effort to stop myself from beating him to a bloody pulp with my baseball bat. "I came out here to see who it was, but apparently they'd already made a run for it."

He was still cackling at me, making me hope that he'd pee his pants so I'd have something to laugh at him for. He turned to Tootsie, who was watching him through narrowed eyes just as I was. "What about it, Tootsie Roll?" he asked, snorting as he tried to speak through his laughter. "Was it the boogeyman, or was it someone who really meant business, like Jason or Freddy?"

I would swear that she rolled her eyes at him, but he didn't notice. He was too busy leaning against the wall, tears from his laughter rolling down his face. "Geez, Violet, haven't you learned anything from watching all of those scary movies that you supposedly hate?" he asked. "This is the "half-dressed hottie" moment of a slasher flick come to life. You know, the one who wanders outside, calling for the big, scary killer man." He snorted with laughter again, making me wish that he was choking to death instead of laughing. "If there were a deranged killer lurking outside in the shadows, you've just made his biggest wet dream become a reality."

"Stop patronizing me," I answered, whirling around to head back into the house. "I hate it when someone treats me like a child."

He reached out a hand and stopped me, pulling me into his arms as I struggled against him. "Calm down, my little slugger," he whispered, leaning down to kiss me. I stubbornly kept my lips clamped shut, refusing to allow him to charm me while I was so angry. He nipped my bottom lip, taking advantage of my gasp of surprise to thoroughly raid and conquer my mouth, chuckling once more as I melted against him. I should have been furious by his underhandedness, but there was a buzzing in my ears and a lightheadedness that took over as he kissed the breath from me, and for the life of me I couldn't remember what it was that I'd been so upset about.

He released me after a few moments, and I was pleased to see that he was just as affected by the kiss as I was, his breathing sped up and a swelling in his trousers that hadn't been there before he kissed me. He leaned down to take hold of a paper sack that he'd set down beside the house, and pulled out a toy clown from within, a stuffed toy with bright orange hair, and a cheerfully painted face. He turned to look at Tootsie, who was watching us with a look of bewilderment on her face. "Tootsie," he said, crouching so that he was more on her level. "This is Petrucchio the clown, a new friend for you." He handed the clown to Tootsie, who took hold of it gingerly with her teeth. "I was hoping you'd keep him company while your master sees to the needs of your mistress."

Tootsie chuffed softly, the sound distorted by the clown in her mouth and trotted off towards the front of the house. Jack turned to look at me, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he rattled the contents that remained in the bag. "I've got some goodies in here for my best girl," he murmured, approaching me slowly. "Some whipped cream," he whispered, making my mouth water with anticipation. "Some fresh, sweet strawberries," he said softly, making me whimper deep in my throat as he leaned down to nibble my earlobe. "And the most important thing of all, a box full of those brownies that you like so much."

My nipples hardened and my knees buckled, both due to the fact that he'd just ran the tip of his tongue inside of my ear and because he'd brought me a treat that caused me to moan in a way that was almost orgasmic with the first bite I took. "You mean _the _brownies?" I whimpered, pressing my lips against his throat as he swept me up into his arms. "The mini brownies from the bakery, the ones that I adore, the ones that I love, the ones that turn me into a ravenous wild woman?"

"A gourmet buffet awaits you, my love" he answered, carrying me towards our front door. "The only catch to this banquet is that there is a strict dress code for those who wish to partake," he whispered, entering the door and kicking it closed with his foot. "You're overdressed...let's see what we can do to remedy that, shall we?"


	10. Smile, What's the Use of Crying?

Chapter Ten

Smile...What's the Use of Crying?

Jack's POV

I had put it off long enough, the inevitability of dealing with the louse that had tormented countless damaged souls, both in and out of Arkham, while he collected a substantial paycheck for his work, the legal _and_ the criminal, for each and every mind he tortured and every single life that he shattered.

I was one of his favorite toys at Arkham, receiving special attention fueled by his respect for his former mentor, Teddy Hawkins, my father. You see, once upon a time, my dear old dad was a well-respected member of the police force of a town called Collinsburg, a decorated detective, as a matter of fact, and when I was thirteen years old he gained a new partner, a wide-eyed young man by the name of Dexter King. King idolized my father and spent many an evening with his feet beneath our dinner table, his adoring eyes glued to my father in rapt adoration as Hawkins rambled on about pretentious career highlights. I suppose that it bolstered my father's ego a good deal to have the complete devotion of someone, even if that someone was a vacuous douchebag like King.

Long story short, King had taken it very badly when his idol had been incarcerated later that year after mutilating the faces of his family members, and had always insisted to anyone that would listen that I had done these things, that a good and decent man like Theodore Hawkins could never have committed such horrendous crimes. I, on the other hand, was a petulant little "weirdo" who had all the makings of a future serial killer, and he claimed that it was a miscarriage of justice, or as he stated it "fucking bullshit" that the jury had believed my story as opposed to the obvious perjuries that my father offered up as a defense. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say that the raw, puckered wounds on not only my mother and sister's faces, but my own as well had effectively testified that I wasn't the perpetrator in that case, but the victim.

Things went south for my family after the trial, despite the removal of my father's malevolent spirit from our home. My mother grew increasingly despondent with each day that went by, sickened by the image of her face in any reflective surface that she passed. She wanted surgery, she wanted miracle workers to restore her visage to its former beauty, but there just wasn't any money to be had for such a costly procedure. Dear old dad had stitched our faces after carving them, but the wounds were...well, they were monstrous...and my mother found their misshapen forms more and more difficult to endure.

I would've expected that sort of reaction from Jilly, who was still an innocent child and didn't even understand why our father had carved up our faces, but I guess I never truly comprehended my mother's fragility, and just how much of her self-importance was personified by her beauty. I tried to convince her that the scars didn't diminish her in any way; I tried to make her see that she was still a lovely woman, but she wouldn't listen to me.

I was fifteen when she swallowed the business end of my father's .357 Magnum, her farewell note conveying that she "just couldn't take it anymore". I was appalled by her actions, by the enormity of her selfishness to leave me and my sister floating out to sea without an anchor, to toss us carelessly to the wolves, all because she 'couldn't take it anymore'.

Moppet and I had been separated from one another, she to one foster home and I to another, where I stayed until I turned eighteen. Foster care is an oxymoron of the cruelest kind, a breeding ground for future criminals and sadists, or both. I tried to locate my little sister when I was released, but I couldn't find her, and all I learned was that she had been adopted. It was probably for the best that I didn't come across her location, because my comic alter ego had already set up shop within my mind, and was swiftly becoming the favorite of running the show unchallenged for control of my mind and my soul. My heart still belonged fully to me, to Jack, my lingering love for my cuddly Moppet and the mother of my childhood keeping a scintilla of humanity intact within my otherwise corrupted body.

I'm going to assume that you are familiar with my criminal past, so there's no need to wallow through the muck of my life up to and including my numerous stints at the lovely resort known as Arkham Asylum, my incarceration at said nuthouse reacquainting me with my father's former worshipper, the delusional and sadistic King. Oh, how happy he'd been to see me after so many years apart. It wasn't a surprise that he still bore me a good deal of ill will, but it _had_ been shocking when he slipped into my cell to throw me the first of many "welcome home" parties, complete with broken bones and contusions. My injuries were officially described as "self-inflicted acts of violence" due to my "insane, aggressive tendencies". It made me wonder that if I had perished as a result of my wounds, would it be determined that I'd somehow managed to beat myself severely, then regained consciousness in time to then beat myself to death? And they say I'm the crazy one...go figure, huh?

Well now, I've rambled on like a man who doesn't have any control over his thoughts so I may as well be crazy, shouldn't I? I had managed to divert my Dainty from the Peeping Tom last night, and had derived unspeakable pleasure once we'd entered our domicile, but a niggling fear had gnawed at me throughout the night, and I'd set about the task of investigating the spot where she'd said that she had noticed the presence of an intruder. What I saw on the brick of our home, on our _sanctuary_, rattled my sense of safety, for both myself and the girls depending on me, and also infuriated me to an extent that I hadn't felt in years.

I may have lived a good deal of my life as a villain, but I had been the son of a cop, a man who'd been a good detective, as well as a sadistic bastard. The tracks were still there, despite the fact that the trespasser had attempted to hide them. He looked to be a fairly good-sized guy, my height or larger, judging by the size of his prints...unless he was a runt with canoe sized feet. It was bad enough, knowing that some bastard had stood at the window, watching my Dainty as she wiled away the hours without me, but when I saw the evidence that he'd also pleasured himself, spilling his seed on the bricks of _our _home...well, let's just say that was a sight that filled me with a homicidal rage that threatened to consume me, and leave it at that, shall we?

I had tried to act as normal as was possible...well, normal for me at least...and had set out to find my good friend Wonko, knowing that he'd have some info for me, given the fact that he had connections all over Gotham. Of course, I didn't tell Violet where I was going, because I didn't want to worry her with my plan nor with the fact that some sick bastard had indeed been peeping in at her.

Wonko proved to be a wealth of information, as always, and he confirmed that Violet and I had indeed been seen and recognized on our day out with Tootsie, a fear that I hadn't been able to shake despite the cheeriness of our time together. Wonko said that the buzz around town was that King had it out for us, apparently he'd not only been fired after the escape, but that he'd also been humiliated by the board and banned from obtaining any sort of law enforcement job in town. He'd placed out feelers around town, searching for any trace of us, and some lowlife desperate for money to support his drug habit had watched us all day and then followed us home.

I was too furious to plot an elaborate scheme, wanting King to pay right then and there for his crimes. It was something that had been years in the making, and I made do with tracking down as many of my fellow inmates outside the walls of Arkham, knowing that a fair amount of money, in addition to having the chance of getting back at Killer King would be irresistible to my fellow nutjobs. Wonko gave me a list of contacts and where I could find them, as well as King's address, and after pocketing a very generous compensation he'd promised that he'd personally watch over my girls until I returned home.

I found some of my favorite loons, and we had a fond, albeit brief reunion before we set out for King's dwelling, a crappy tenement housed in the absolute worst part of town. It was a perfect spot for what I had in mind, because there wouldn't be anyone in residence who would dare to call the police, no matter what they heard. My temporary colleagues and I would have an ample amount of time to torment King before we finally ended his life, which was something that was desired by all in attendance.

I led the party inside, decked out in all of my Joker finery despite the fact that the sun was out, bright and sparkly. I wasn't too worried that anyone would recognize me in this dump, and even if they did, I seriously doubted that they'd do anything about it. My fellow assassins were outfitted with rubber clown masks, the kind that I'd always used when I rampaged as the Joker, and an odd feeling that was something like nostalgia welled up within me.

"_Did you miss me Jackie Boy?"_ a disturbingly familiar voice whispered in my ear, causing my stomach to turn uneasily.

"You're only here to help me take King out," I hissed in response, drawing looks of curiosity from several of my colleagues. "Pay attention to the task at hand," I ordered quietly, but firmly, reaching inside my purple overcoat to retrieve my favorite knife, brought out of retirement for this oh so special occasion.

King's apartment was located on the ground floor, which was fortuitous given the ample girth of some of my associates. I led the way to the door, staying near the walls despite the fact that they were shiny from some sort of...yeech, I didn't even want to know what it was. Lenny Gardner, a schizophrenic who'd offed his elderly mother when he became convinced that she was housing Satan within her brain, had been costumed as a deliveryman, sans clown mask, and he knocked on the door, holding a gaily wrapped box in his pudgy hands. It would be easy for King to recognize Lenny, who'd been an inmate at Arkham for at least ten years during King's tenure as Head Guard...heh, make your own joke...so I told him to hold the box up and point his face down, hoping that King's reputation for being pathetically thick was still accurate.

Poor King, apparently he didn't receive many packages, and the sight of the brightly wrapped box through the peephole was too much of a temptation to resist. He opened the door all the way...what a douchebag...allowing plenty of room for me and my five accomplices to enter his domicile. It was shocking, and rewarding, to see the depths of the squalor that he squatted in, and it was even more satisfying to see his eyes widen with fear as he took in the full measure of what was happening to him, right then, at that moment.

"You don't have to do this, Jack," he pleaded, his eyes falling on me, recognizing the fact that out of all the wackos present, I was the only one who might listen to reason.

"_What did he just call you?"_ the voice in my ear whispered, spiking my temper even further.

I grabbed hold of King, numerous memories, all of them bad, flowing forth from me, through me. This slime that had defended my father, had testified that my mother was a liar, that my sister was a spoiled brat, and that I, Jack Hawkins, was a mentally unhinged _weirdo_, the obvious guilty party, while my father was a police hero, his good name maligned by his deviant son. I thought of all of the beatings I'd received at his hands, whether directly or on his orders by the other guards. I thought about how he took money, had accepted the job from Rizzuto to beat, to rape my Dainty. But most of all I thought about him standing outside of our home, watching Violet and touching his dick, climaxing on our home as he'd leered at her.

"You, um, don't have permission to call me by that name," I answered, my speech falling easily into the stilted pattern so favored by my alter ego. "And I do have to do this see, because you are a rabid dog King, a malignant tumor that has, ah, attached itself to my new life. You are a cancerous growth, and I'm here to eradicate you before you do something that I can't live with."

I lovingly released the blade of my knife, my tongue tracing my lips as I teased the skin of King's neck with the blade. It was satisfying when he whimpered like a beaten dog, the helplessness that soured the air around him feeding my need for vengeance. "Shush, King," I murmured; drawing the point of the knife across his Adam's apple, grinning as a thin trickle of blood flowed from the slight wound downward to stain the neckband of his t-shirt. "Big bad Jokerman isn't going to be the one killing you today. My little friends have been dying to spend some, um, quality time with you, so I'm going to leave you in their very capable hands, 'kay?"

He dropped to his knees, his arms encircling my legs while he begged me to stay, to please not leave him, and my satisfaction, and the Joker's satisfaction, grew as the pungent odor of urine floated up to fill my nostrils. This was working out better than I could have ever planned for. I was tempted for just a moment to stay there, to squash the roach myself, but unfortunately for my killer clown persona, Jack was in charge, and Jack wasn't going to dirty his hands any more than he had to.

"Your blood is on my blade," I whispered, smiling as I backed away from him. "That is all that I require from you."

I backed away from him and calmly took my leave, closing the door firmly behind me. The screams were exhilarating as I rushed outside, but I didn't take the time to fully savor them, I was too eager to make it back home to my girls.

"_Where do you think you're going?"_ he hissed, determined to regain control of the situation. _"We still have a lot of work to do here."_

"I'm through here," I countered, smiling as he howled angrily. "And you might as well shuffle off to your hiding place, because our business together is over and done with."

Violet's POV

Once or twice I looked out the window and would have sworn that I saw Wonko sitting in a car parked across the street. I had been alarmed for just a few moments, thinking of the trespasser the night before, but then I remembered that Wonko wasn't a big guy, and the shadow that I had seen the night before belonged to a good-sized man, or at least I had perceived it to belong to a man.

I wondered if Jack had asked him to keep an eye on me while he was gone, and it made me happy to think of him watching out for my safety. I was cleaning the house, getting it spic and span after several days of laziness had me procrastinating, putting off chores for a time when Jack was gone. He'd seemed preoccupied and a little angry when he had left, but I knew that his anger wasn't directed at or caused by me.

I was bent over the coffee table in the living room, arranging some wildflowers I'd found outside in a pretty blue and white china vase when I felt his hands caressing my backside lovingly, appreciatively. "Now that's a pretty sight for a man to come home to," his voice purred seductively in my ear, causing my nipples to harden with awareness and a jolt of longing to course between my thighs. I briefly wondered if this wanting for him would ever lessen, if it would grant me a few hours of reprieve from this all-consuming arousal that burned in me whenever he was near...damn, that was a depressing thought. I would rather suffer from a constant state of lust than to have that desire taken away from me.

He pulled me back toward him, turning me so that he could hold me in his arms. I stood up on my tiptoes, twining my arms around his neck and kissing him, my tongue caressing his, arching myself against the hardness that signified his arousal very clearly and very insistently. "Oh, Dainty," he whispered, pulling his lips away from mine. "That's a nice coming home too."

I heard the clickety-click of Tootsie's nails against the hardwood floor as she came barreling into the room. She missed Jack when he was gone and although she'd play with me and spend time with me, her eyes and her ears were always on the lookout for Jack to return. She walked right up to him, completely ignoring me, sitting down and gently brushing her paw down the side of his pants leg.

"Hey there, Tootsie Roll," he greeted her, bending down to scratch behind her ears. She wriggled happily and butted her head against his leg. I knew that she wanted Jack's attention for herself, but I was so turned-on at that moment that I was tempted to pull him away into the bedroom where I could shut and lock the door.

Fortunately for me Jack needed me just as much as I needed him. "Where did you stash Petruccio?" he asked, leading her away so that they could find the stuffed clown. Jack found the toy behind the recliner and swept it up off of the floor, offering it to Tootsie, who managed to look conciliatory, annoyed and heartbroken all at the same time. She definitely had that trick down flat, but she had underestimated how much power there was in the promise of some good afternoon nookie, and Jack wasn't willing to give up sex for scratching her belly.

He stood his ground, raising his eyebrows as he stared her down, and I would have sworn that she sighed dejectedly as she started to back away, Petruccio the clown clamped gingerly in her teeth. "Thanks, Toots," Jack said, pulling me back into his arms. "You and me have an appointment with a ball, outside, this evening, all right?" She chuffed softly and turned to leave the room, her step light once more, and you may think that I'm crazy for saying so, but I knew that Jack had made her happy with what he'd said.

"Now then, my love," he said, pushing me gently down onto the couch, kneeling down on the floor between my legs while he drew my pants down and off of me. "Daddy brought you a little something...a treat."

He held up a pint of the chocolate ice cream that we loved and I rolled my eyes exasperatedly. "Last night it was brownies and whipped cream," I said, stifling a moan as a short replay of the night before flashed through my head. "Now it's ice cream. What are you trying to do, make me fat?"

"I don't think you're in any harm whatsoever of getting fat," he answered, leaning forward to run the tip of his tongue over and around on my thighs. "But if it worries you that much, just remember that we'll be burning off the calories pretty soon, so they won't have the opportunity to latch on to you anywhere."

He raised his mouth to the waistband of my panties, drawing the lilac silk and lace garment off of my body. I blushed as he raised them to his nose, drawing in my scent. He tossed them to the side of the couch and then parted me with his fingers, leaning forward to lick me, the tip of his tongue leading the charge as the broad back of his tongue opened me even further to his explorations. He tasted me for a few moments and then sat back, popping the lid off of the ice cream.

"I gave you the damp heat of my tongue," he purred, dipping his finger down into the softened ice cream, bringing forth a small dollop cupped in his fingertip. "You seemed to like that pretty well. Now let's see how you like something that's wet and cold."

I barely had time to register his words and then he was dipping his frosty, chocolate covered finger into my core, coating every surface, the initial chill of the ice cream warming quickly within the molten heat of my flesh. It was such an erotic experience and I delved my hands into his hair, holding him close to my body as his tongue entered me once more, licking the chocolate in the manner of one who was enjoying an ice cream cone.

The tip of his tongue teased my clitoris in a way which made my temperature soar, and I writhed uncontrollably against the cushions of the sofa, my legs hooked over his shoulders. When it felt as though I couldn't stand anymore I tried to pull back and away from him, but he nipped that behavior in the bud by reaching beneath me to grab my backside, pulling me close so that I couldn't get away, no matter how hard I tried. His tongue plunged into me again and again, and I shattered with a cry of his name, thrusting myself against him, coming all over again as my bones seemed to melt within my body.

I was exhausted after the sensual assault that I'd just survived and I didn't protest as he scooped me up into his arms, heading for our bedroom to finish what he'd started. I was still shaking, still quivering from the aftershocks, tears streaming down my face. Jack looked alarmed when he first noticed that I was crying, but then realization dawned on his face.

"Those are happy tears, aren't they?" he asked softly, kissing my cheek. I couldn't answer him verbally, it was all too much for me at that moment, but I nodded, smiling through my tears, reassuring him that all was well, and that he had nothing to be worried about. Tears weren't always a bad thing, at times they are a source of healing, and even better was when they signified absolute happiness, the way that they did in me at that moment.


	11. The Other Side of the Door

Chapter Eleven

The Other Side of the Door

Violet's POV

These were the times that I loved, the moments that I savored, when I could watch him, study him, without his knowledge or discomfort. I'd told him time and time again that his scars weren't off-putting to me, that I saw them as a reminder of a truly horrific moment in his life, and I hated the fact that they existed because he was hurt by someone that he should have been able to trust. That said, I loved to stroke them, to feel the baby soft texture of that skin on his face, but more often than not I made him self-conscious if I touched them. I had often wondered why, with his seemingly endless supply of funds, that he hadn't had them fixed to be less obvious, if they truly bothered him so much, but I hadn't ever asked him about it, because I was fearful that he would assume that I was suggesting that I wanted him to fix them.

There were several scars all over his body, some that were superficial; others that made me wonder how he'd managed to survive the wound. Those were the ones that bothered me when I looked at them, the ones that suggested that he'd been hurt very badly. It wasn't because I thought they were hideous or something stupid like that, no, it was the idea that he could've been taken, could've died, and I never would have known what it was to love and be loved by him.

I watched him closely, spellbound by the sight, as he ran his lathered hands, the hands that I loved so much, over his body, emphasizing the hard planes of his form, a body that was becoming as familiar to me as my own. He had his back turned to where I was standing, watching, and I admired the muscular tautness of his backside, reminiscing on the times that I had grabbed hold of it as he plunged within me, of the times I'd crossed my legs on top of it, drawing him in closer as he rode me into a rapturous stupor.

My mouth went dry as he briefly turned to the side while he applied more soap to his hands and his manhood was revealed to me in profile. Something during his shower had proven to be arousing to him, if the state of his cock was any indication, and I blushed, despite the fact that he hadn't seen me and even though we were the only ones in the bathroom. It wasn't as though I'd never seen him naked before, or in his present state of glory, but I was still embarrassed none the less.

I was dressed in the purple silk nightie that he had bought for me, a tiny scrap of nothingness that had probably been outrageously expensive and that felt like absolute bliss against my naked skin. I didn't dare to put on any panties when I came to bed anymore because he seemed to take it as a personal offense when I did so, and I was shockingly bared as I raised the sleek garment up to my waist, bunching it against my tummy as my other hand sought out the crux of my aching need, my fingertip teasing the tiny bundle of nerves that awaited my caresses.

Jack loved to watch while I pleasured myself, which made him on par with most other men in the world, but I usually felt too uncomfortable and wouldn't comply with his request that I do so in front of him. This was different though, this wasn't for any audience other than my own, and I wanted to sate my own lust at that moment, feeling perfectly safe and at ease, because I knew that he was completely unaware of my presence.

My touch grew more insistent, and my center grew more and more saturated with the nectar of my arousal, until I had to bite down on my lip to contain the pre-orgasm whimpers that were rising up out of me. I could feel myself moving toward the crest, just a few more strokes and I'd be there...and then Jack did the worst thing possible. He turned around and smiled at me, the smile that he knew had the ability to reach out and grab me right between my thighs, and that smile, that heated look in his eyes, paired with the sight of his growing erection and the frenzied movements I hadn't stopped, despite the fact that I had been caught, culminated in a release that was so intense that had I died right afterward, I would have done so with a blissful smile on my face.

I was torn between the impulse to flee the room as quickly as possible and the need to fall as though I was suddenly boneless to the floor, but in the end I simply stood my ground, the hand that was clutching my pussy dropping down to my side while the other hand loosed the purple silk that it had been clutching, causing Jack to frown disapprovingly.

"That's not fair at all, Dainty," he said, pressing himself against the glass of the shower door, magnifying the impressive arousal that I had admired while pleasuring myself. "You're not going to be mean and leave me in here all by myself are you?"

We both knew the answer to that question already. He knew that while I had temporarily satisfied my need for release, he could have me begging, my body quivering and aching for him in a matter of moments, and that it was only fair, since I'd been eavesdropping on him, that I be the one to initiate what would lead to our mutual satisfaction, rather than me always counting on him to be the aggressive one.

I grabbed the hem of the nightie in my hands and drew it up and off of my body, smiling as I saw his eyes widen, knowing that my nipples were already standing up like two little gumdrops. I walked over to the shower and opened the door, allowing him to move back and grant me admittance. He was so beautiful, an adjective usually reserved for an attractive woman or a sunset, but that was the word that came to my mind when I looked at him...beautiful. He twined his arms around me and pulled me up against his chest, bending his head to kiss me very softly, but also very thoroughly.

"Do you have any idea how much it turns me on to see your tiny finger rubbing up and down on your pussy?" he growled, thrusting himself up against the wetness that had seeped out of me, joined by the water that was raining down on our bodies. "I wondered how much of a show I was going to have to give before I managed to get you all hot and bothered."

I felt my face heat up and knew that a blush of embarrassment had more than likely colored me in a cherry red hue. "You knew that I was watching you?" I whispered softly, my eyes narrowing as he started giggling at my discomfiture. "You're not exactly an expert at moving surreptitiously," he answered. "Why else would I have had an erection in the shower, if I hadn't known that you were there?"

He yelped as I reached my hand up to his chest, and pinched his nipple. "Maybe you were getting ready to play with yourself," I answered, turning to run out of the shower before he could grab hold of me, which was definitely a mistake on my part.

"Gotcha," he said, grabbing hold of me around my waist, pulling me up against his body once more, his erection pressed firmly against my flesh. "What a naughty little minx you are," he whispered, turning me in his arms and lowering one hand to stingingly slap against my backside. "It looks like I'm going to have to punish you, and let me say up front that I'm going to enjoy every moment of it."

His hand stroked my butt, soothing away the throb from his first swat, teasing me before smacking me again. "Please, Jack," I whimpered, wanting him to stop, but also needing him to continue.

He smiled down at me, his hand gently caressing my abused flesh. "Is that a 'please Jack yes' or a 'please Jack no'?" he purred.

I gasped as he lowered his mouth to my neck, nipping at my skin, running his tongue along each place that he bit, a salve lovingly applied to each mark. "I don't know," I moaned helplessly, writhing against him as his head dipped lower and his tongue grazed across my nipple.

His hand moved around from my tush, moving between my thighs which parted easily to afford him access to flesh that was still sensitive from my earlier ministrations. "What about now," he murmured, his finger lightly stroking my clitoris and then moving away, teasing me mercilessly. "Is it 'please Jack yes' or 'please Jack no'?"

"Please," I said, my voice shaking from the force of my need. "Pretty please, Jack...yes, please."

His fingertip found me, swollen and straining for his touch, and it wasn't long before I was screaming with release, shrieking his name as I rode his hand, my knees weakening and nearly giving out as wave after wave of climax gripped me. He held me against him, kissing my forehead as I shuddered from the aftershocks that always followed a phenomenal orgasm and once I'd calmed somewhat he reached over to turn off the water, which was starting to grow colder, and moved as though he were going to pick me up.

"Not so fast," I said, kneeling down to rest my knees on the cushiony mat that served the purpose of keeping either of us from slipping and smashing our fannies while we showered. His engorged arousal was right in front of my face, and it was my turn to grin as I raised my eyes in what I hoped was a seductive manner, opening my mouth to trace the tip of my tongue up his length, taking care to keep the touch very light and gentle. I continued to tease him, while his hands delved into my hair, while he tried to pull me into a more intimate encounter with his distended flesh. I resisted every overture on his part that I cease my playing, determined that he would beg me, just as I'd begged him.

"Don't tease me, Dainty," he moaned as I ran my mouth along his cock. "You know that I hate to be teased."

"I know sweetie," I replied, encircling him for just a moment before resuming the slow, tortuous licking that led north, and then south, which I was certain was pleasing to him, but which failed to satisfy him completely. "I would be happy to stop all this tantalizing. All you have to do is say the magic word."

His growl of frustration echoed in the shower, his hands tightened in my hair, but it didn't take long for him to surrender to me. "Please, Violet," he whimpered, his hands loosening as he caressed my skull. "Pretty please, with sugar piled up on top."

I took him into my mouth, my hand providing both the added stimulation of a caress, as well as acting as a barrier that would keep me from taking too much of him into my mouth. It didn't take much to gag me and I had no desire to ruin this moment by vomiting. I made love to him with my mouth, swirling my tongue up and around him, his moans of pleasure emboldening me through an act that was still somewhat foreign to me. I took it as a sign that I was performing quite well, despite my inexperience, when I lowered my eyes to see his toes curling into the mat that I was kneeling upon.

I sped up both the movements of my mouth and of my hand and his breathing quickened along with the change in pace, his hands tightening once more in my hair, his body unconsciously thrusting forward. His moaning increased, interspaced with gasps of my name as he told me that he was close, and implored me to release him, then he told me that I didn't have to keep my mouth on him, that he didn't expect me to 'do that' . I was confused as to why he would want me to remove my mouth from his flesh when he was so near his climax, and then it dawned on me that I'd heard things about how guys liked girls who would swallow, but that most girls refused to do so, preferring to spit instead, and I realized that he was under the assumption that I didn't want him to come in my mouth.

It was a ridiculous notion to me, the idea that I'd be offended by that. This wasn't some guy I'd met that day, a virtual stranger, this was my Jack, the man that I loved, and I wanted to pleasure him as thoroughly as he pleasured me. I raised my free hand to his buttocks, bringing him closer toward me and I continued to satisfy him until he convulsed against me, a shout of both relief and triumph echoing off the walls of the shower. He always cried out when his moment arrived, but now he sounded as though his heart had been ripped from his chest, but rather than be upset by that occurrence, he sounded downright jubilant.

He flooded my mouth with the proof of his relief and I lovingly savored every last drop, only then did I remove my mouth from him and raise my eyes to look at him. He looked very pleased, and very relaxed, but also slightly embarrassed. "You didn't have to do that," he muttered, lowering his arms to pull me up to my feet. "I'm not saying that I minded it, hell, I loved it, but I don't want you to think that it was something that I expected."

"I know that, sweetie," I answered, nuzzling my nose against his chest. "I wouldn't have done it if I didn't want to, you know?"

He smiled at me and bent down to kiss me before scooping me up into his arms. He opened the door and headed for our bedroom, and my nipples tightened in anticipation of what lay ahead of me. He entered the room and closed the door behind him, walking over to lay me down on our bed. He had a look of tenderness in his eyes, but there was also determination lurking there as he placed himself between my legs, leaning down to nip each of my thighs. "Let's see if I can return the favor," he growled, and I'd have to say that he definitely accomplished what he wished as he proceeded to "return the favor"...and quite well, I might add.

I was making the bed when I heard a knock on the front door, and I wondered who could be paying a visit to Jack and me. My first guess was either Herb or Ida, but then I realized that if it were them Tootsie wouldn't be barking up a storm. She'd had several encounters with the kindly old couple that had always resulted in a treat of some kind, and I knew that she both liked and trusted them, so it had to be someone who was a stranger.

I cautiously approached the door, wishing that Jack were home, but he'd gone out to get supplies for us, and while he should have been arriving at any moment, it was up to me to answer the door. In all likelihood he would have advised me to ignore the knocking but I was kind of flighty at times, and I also had no desire to crouch in the corner trembling like a ninny until Jack got home.

I pulled open the door and the greeting that I'd prepared fell silent on my lips, my world seeming to crash around me as I looked into blue eyes that were very familiar to me, hardened now by a life that had proven to be a disappointment. "Hello there, Violet," she said, stepping forward to hug me. "How I've missed my sweet baby sister."


	12. Taking a Stand

Chapter Twelve

Taking a Stand

Jack's POV

I didn't like feeling that cold chill of dread that was dancing up and down my spine; fear never did anything positive for me, so let's just say that it made me more than a little angry to see a strange car parked so close to our home. The knowledge that someone was possibly inside with my Dainty and the thought that she could be in danger scared me half to death, and brought old feelings back to life, the sort that almost always resulted in a certain maniacal clown making an unwanted appearance.

I hated shopping, hated every moment spent amongst people who were sighted well enough to see that I was horribly scarred, but were equally just as blind, because they lacked the intelligence to match up my scars with who I was, or at least, who I had been. Some were polite enough to look at me briefly and then look away, but I couldn't even begin to tell you how many would stare, and even worse were the ones who would stare and then feel as though it was their God-given right and duty to make a comment, usually amongst their equally obnoxious friends, tittering and mocking as you walked past them. I really wished that I wasn't concerned with whether or not my actions would upset Violet at times, because then I could remind them, in the most painful way possible, that an armed society is a polite society.

The one bright spot of my afternoon away from my sweet baby girl was my visit to the charming lady that had supplied me with flowers for my Violet once before. Her name was Flora, appropriate given her chosen profession, and she had actually remembered me, and not in that "Oh, yeah...the guy with the freaky scars" way. I had her construct a blushing crimson arrangement, both chrysanthemums and roses, and had set off for home, eager for a bit of red-hot loving with my red-hot momma.

That, of course, was before I had turned onto our street and had immediately homed in on the car that was parked near to our home, but still remained a ways back, so that someone inside the house wouldn't see it if they were to look out of the window. Fear clenched in my chest, squeezing my heart and shortening my breath as I thought of Dainty and Tootsie all alone in the house with a deranged lunatic...well, another deranged lunatic besides yours truly, given the fact that they spent a good amount of their time with me in the house.

I left all of the groceries in the car, except for the flowers...I reasoned that they would wither in the car and I could also use the vase to inflict blunt force trauma if necessary...and I cautiously turned the knob that offered entrance into our home, taking care to keep my footsteps light in an effort to keep my arrival quiet, just in case Dainty was in dire circumstances, which would necessitate me getting the drop on the son of a bitch who was hurting her.

My attempts to enter in a clandestine manner were destroyed, however, with the barking and clickety-click of doggie nails scratching against the hardwood floor as Tootsie barreled out to meet me in the foyer. She jumped up against me, rubbing her nose against my belly in greeting, and then proceeded to take the cuff of my shirt into her mouth and drag me to the living room, her quick pace nearly causing me to fall several times while she shot looks of utter disgust up at me from the corner of her eye. I suppose she was thinking that I ought to be able to keep pace with her much easier than I was, and she was obviously concerned that I hurry to Violet and protect her from whatever source of villainy had entered into our home.

I was relieved to see that Dainty was fine, with no obvious sign of injury, but it was evident to me that she was also very angry, and though I thoroughly enjoyed the sparks of fury that were firing forth from her eyes, I was also very glad that her wrath wasn't directed toward me. She was sitting very stiffly on the couch, staring daggers across the room at the unwelcome visitor who on closer inspection was recognizable to me as her older sister, Poppy.

The sniveling, conniving bitch that shared the responsibility for my sweet baby girl's incarceration was in our home, in our living room. There weren't words adequate enough for the outrage that filled me, which threatened to propel me into violent action against the cow that sat in our living room as though she had some sort of right to do so. It was all that I could do, to stand still and make do with glaring at her until my beloved gave me her consent to do bodily harm to her sister, but this was her show, not mine, which meant that I didn't make the rules…no matter how much I might have wished to do so.

Dainty's eyes brightened with happiness somewhat when she turned to look at me and at the large arrangement of flowers that I held in my hands. I felt a little goofy, standing there with my vase full of posies, wanting more than anything to launch a full aggressive attack against the traitorous whore that had hurt my Dainty, but it did my heart good to see that brief flash of happiness light up her face. What made it even better was to know that she was just as happy to see me as she was to see the flowers, maybe even more so.

"Oh Jack, they're absolutely beautiful," she gushed, hurrying over to where I was standing and taking the blossoms eagerly from my hands. She placed them on the coffee table and admired them for a moment before returning to where I stood, rising onto her tiptoes and sliding her arms around my neck. I lost myself in her lips, in the gentle brushing of her tongue, in the soft warmth of her body, just as I always did when she kissed me, and a few moments passed before I remembered that we had an audience, an unwelcome one at that.

The blonde was watching us with a definite look of disgust on her face, but her attempt at complete revulsion was marred by the slight hint of envy that was evident amongst the repugnance. I was tempted for just a moment to bend my Dainty over the arm of the sofa to give her sister a real good show of things, but that would be an insult to Violet, and to me as well, to display our love for one another in such a way, as a show for her cow of a sister, so I kept my attentions limited to the kiss…for the time being, at least.

"Let me introduce you to our _guest_ sweetie," Violet said, the emphasis placed on the word 'guest' the way one might say "cockroach". "This is my sister Poppy, you know, the one who testified against me, sending me to Arkham, to rot forever in that hellhole, while she made a pathetic attempt to hold onto a man who is repulsed by the idea that she still pines after him, in spite of everything that he did to her…you remember her, don't you, my love?"

I nodded, but didn't say anything to the woman, because I didn't quite trust myself to keep control of myself and resist the urge to strangle her. I knew all about her crimes against her sister, and I wanted her to pay, to cry, to beg, to _bleed_, but at the same time I was stricken by the irony that I never would have had my Dainty if her sister _hadn't_ betrayed her, which meant that I owed her my thanks even as I longed to remove her spleen with the dullest, rustiest blade that I owned…talk about being pulled in two different directions.

"Now, Violet," she answered in a tone of voice that was falsely sweet and infuriatingly patronizing. "_I _didn't send you to Arkham. That was the judge's decision."

Who would have thought that someone who had enormous odds against their making it out of alive would have the audacity to be so bold with their denigration of the person that they had wronged? Most people had some concern for their life, even if it wasn't as pronounced as it ought to have been, but it would seem that Poppy had no regard for her life at all.

Dainty smiled at that moment, a smile unlike any I had ever seen on her face before, and I felt a cold trickle of fear take hold of me once more, only this time it made its way across my balls, as opposed to up and down my spine, and I was very relieved that the smile was directed at the blonde cow as opposed to being aimed at me.

"No, you didn't make the declaration for Arkham," Violet murmured, a look of coldness seeping into her eyes. "That was the choice of people more important than you." Her smile grew along with her sister's outrage, and I had to admit that as frightening as this new Dainty was, she was incredibly sexy as well. "Really, I should thank them for sending me there," Violet continued, taking both me and the whore by surprise. "If I hadn't been sent to that hellhole I never would have met my Jack, and that would have been a heartbreaking loss indeed, in hindsight."

There had been many instances since we had first met that I had felt important, that I had known that I meant a lot to her, but this was the first time I realized just how much she loved me, and how much we belonged together, how we were meant for each other. It was heartening in ways that I couldn't begin to explain, the knowledge of the depth of her bond to me, but I also knew that I really didn't deserve her, and that had to be my biggest fear, the thought that she might be taken away from me, or, even worse, that she realized that I was a maniac, a lunatic who was hardly the man of her dreams.

"I'm sure that you've made a match that would make you the envy of every woman in Gotham," her sister sneered. "At least, you would be to all of the crazy, desperate and hopeless ones."

Violet raised her eyebrows and started walking towards her sister, and I have to admit that I was anticipating the fur to fly and the claws to draw blood after that little zinger, but my Dainty struck back in the most effective way, the way in which she had her sister trumped, checked and mated...using her verbal wit as her pointed rapier of choice.

"Well Poppy, I suppose that puts you in the lead of those who covet what I have," she purred, that scary smile growing almost sincere in appearance. "Since I'd have to say that you qualify as the craziest, most desperate, and pitifully hopeless cow to be found in all of Gotham."

That certainly livened the 'hopeless cow' up a good deal, and I felt compelled to intercede as I saw her move in a threatening manner towards my Dainty, but what happened next showed me that Violet didn't really require my assistance in dealing with her sister. Poppy was counting on the fact that she had a good five inches and fifteen pounds on Violet to add to her advantage in a fight, but what she hadn't taken into account, and what I hadn't known existed, was that a true killer and fighter instinct was buried deep inside my sweet baby girl, which meant that she could easily hold her own.

Poppy swung her fist, and had it made actual contact it would have been a good right hook, but Violet sidestepped the intended blow quite easily, and using her sister's forward momentum against her, she swept her feet against the back of Poppy's and knocked her down on her rather flat ass. She didn't have the chance to hardly take a breath before baby sister was upon her, both knees on Poppy's arms, holding her down, while she brandished a knife that I recognized as one of my own, caressing the heaving throat of the woman beneath her hold.

It's a horrible thing to admit, but I had a rock hard erection at that moment, at the sight of this beautiful and masterful animalistic side that had rested within my Dainty all this time, making me think that perhaps I had misnamed her. She was always beautiful, although the beauty changed from time to time, with each mood that passed through her, and this was a new awesome magnificence to behold, a vision that was virgin and stimulating to me.

"You know what I can do with this, sister dear," she whispered, and I saw a genuine look of fear take hold of Poppy. "You have two choices available to you at this time. One, you can pick yourself up off of this floor and escort yourself out of this house or two, you can be escorted, in whatever fashion the usher deems necessary, but either way, you will never darken my doorway again, or this blade will do more than just hint at violence, catch my drift?"

Poppy scrambled to her feet, dark hatred for my Dainty ugly on her face. "I was trying to give you a chance to get out alive, you stupid little bitch," she screamed, tears of humiliation and anger welling up in her eyes. "He's coming for you, for both of you, and I was just trying to help you."

Violet started towards her once more, knife held at the ready, and her sister finally saw the reality that her time had run out, and that if she wished to survive, she would run and stop provoking her little sister any further.

We followed her up the hall to the front door, and she grasped the doorknob, opening the door but then stopping, turning to look at Violet once more. "You think you've found yourself a good man baby sister, but there's no such thing." She turned towards me, her lip curling up in a hateful sneer. "Ask your lover where he's been going on those days that he leaves you, and what he's been doing, and then tell me whether or not you think he's such a good catch after all."

My heart sank as the door slammed closed behind her, and I waited for my Dainty to tear into me, to grill me on where I'd gone and what I'd done, but instead she walked to the window beside the front door, watching as Poppy left, and once the coast was clear she took hold of my hand, pulling me outside.

"Let me give you a hand with those groceries," she said, her manner as calm as it ever was, as though everything was rosy, with no dark clouds in sight, but in my heart I knew better.

Violet's POV

I couldn't push him to talk about it, no matter how much I wanted to know, how much I needed to know. To question him would be to say that I was buying in to Poppy's bullshit, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. There was no denying that I was curious about where it was that he spent his time away with me, and who it was that captured his attention in those hours away, but I couldn't ask him about it. I had to trust that he would tell me himself, once the time was right.

My sister had pulled some ballsy moves in the past, testifying against me after I'd tried to protect her had to be number one, but today's little surprise visit would definitely rank in the top five. The only good thing that had come out of it was that I had stood up for myself, I hadn't backed down and played the submissive role as I'd always done in the past. My time with Jack had bolstered my self-confidence, had taught me that I was a woman who was strong, and that I was a woman who was loved. I wasn't alone in the world any longer, not as long as he was with me.

I made a big pan of lasagna with a side of my homemade garlic rolls for dinner, blushing as he heaped praise on my cooking. You'd think that I'd be used to it by now, the nonstop compliments, but no, I wasn't yet, and I wasn't growing tired of them either. I was a good cook, I had to agree, even if it did make me sound bigheaded, but I may as well have served up wet newspaper with a side of slimy cardboard as appealing as the food was to me that night. I made do with pushing it around my plate, picking the cheese off of the top of the lasagna, until a reasonable amount of time had passed by and I escaped from the dining room to wash the dishes.

I gathered and scraped the plates, plunging them into hot, soapy water and Jack joined me, towel in hand, and ready to dry each dish, as was our nightly ritual. Usually there was playfulness between us, water splashed back and forth, Jack smacking my fanny with the towel, but none of our usual jovialness existed, the mood in the kitchen was somber, almost funereal.

We washed and dried in silence for a while, and then Jack had started irritating me, elbowing me in the side and when I'd ask what he wanted he'd act like I was imagining things, like he hadn't touched me at all. I started ignoring him, as best I could, but Jack hated it when I ignored him and after a few failed attempts to get my attention by nudging my side he decided that the best route to go was to grab a glass that he'd just dried, fill it with rinse water and dunk it over my head.

I sputtered for a few moments, astounded that he had just dumped water over my head, and not clean water either, but friggin' rinse water that had already had all of the plates, glasses, and silverware run through it. I had always taken Jack for an intelligent man, but something told me that I should rethink that evaluation, because a smart man wouldn't continue to stand next to me, or any other woman that he'd done something so disgusting to, laughing his fool head off like he'd just done something really clever. No, a bright man would have made a run for it out of the kitchen by now, and if he were really wise he would have left the house all together.

I parted the sodden curtains of my hair, my eyes undeniably conveying my rage to Jack in a way that would have left no doubt in his mind about the fact that I was just about to wreak absolute havoc on him. He looked at me appraisingly for a moment and then started whooping with laughter once more and by that time I'd had all that I could take, and with a shrill battle cry I jumped on him, knocking us both down to the slippery, soapy floor.

I put up a pretty good fight for about two seconds and then the battle turned in his favor as he flipped me over onto my back. He laughed for a few moments, clearly enjoying his status as the victor, but then his eyes strayed down to my chest and the laughter died on his lips, and his eyes heated as they roamed up and down, back and forth across my chest, where the drenched material of my t-shirt clung to my braless breasts, my nipples blossoming as I felt him harden against me.

"Are you still mad at me?" he whispered, his eyes scared as they fastened on my face, his apprehension taking momentary control over his arousal. I was mad at him about the water, and I was mad at him for not being upfront with me about everything, but I couldn't stay that way for very long, looking at the fear that was in his eyes. "Not too mad, sweetie," I murmured, sliding my hands around behind his neck, pulling him down to where I could kiss him.

His tongue was warm, the feel of it welcome within my mouth, shyly exploring me, its movements growing bolder as his hands sought out my breasts, easing the ache that had settled down into my nipples. The water on the floor was growing cold and I ached all up and down my legs and my butt was growing seriously uncomfortable as well. Jack finally caught on to the fact that I wasn't just writhing around beneath him because I was turned-on and he rose gingerly to his feet, his pants swelled out quite impressively at the crotch. He started to lead me out of the kitchen but then he stopped to stare at the table that was in our little breakfast nook, and he looked to me, back to the table, then once more at me, and just as I was realizing his intentions he swept me up into his arms and placed me gently upon the table.

He removed my sodden pants and t-shirt, bending to take one of my nipples in his mouth. My hands delved into his hair and I moved him back and forth from one nipple to the other, crying out as he sucked each one, hard, into his mouth.

He pulled away from me suddenly and stared at me, his chest heaving as he struggled to slow his breathing. "I need to tell you where I've gone and what I've done," he said, one hand lowering to clasp with mine. "I shouldn't make love to you while all of these doubts are between us."

Damn Jack, he had just about the worst timing of anyone I'd ever known. I was so worked up by this point that I could have cared less what he'd done while he was away. He could have been dressing up as Shirley Temple and having a red-hot affair with the long-lost love child of Adolph Hitler for all I cared at that moment. "Tell me later, sweetie," I gasped, reaching down to cup him through his trousers, making my attempt to convince him much easier.

His eyes closed as I caressed him, his breathing growing faster once more until he growled deep down in his throat and began to tear his clothes off as quickly as he could, leaving me clothed in a tiny pair of panties and him in nothing at all. Before he dropped his pants to the floor he grabbed two things from the pockets, one was a condom, and the other was the knife that I'd used earlier that day to threaten my sister.

"When we get around to the part where I tell you my secrets," he said, flipping open the blade of the knife and cutting through the tiny strings that connected the front to the back of my panties. "You're going to have to tell me exactly what it was that you did to Rizzuto, because I have a feeling that I haven't heard the whole story."

He started rubbing my clitoris with a roughened fingertip, making me soar higher and higher, and I would have gladly spilled any secrets that I had at that moment, just as long as he promised that he wouldn't stop. My hands grasped the side of the table, my hips undulating in that rhythm that was as old as time itself, and it wasn't long before I shattered beneath his touch, crying out as the sharp bliss of release took hold of me.

I had been given some reprieve at that moment, but it wasn't enough. I still felt empty inside, and needed to feel him plunging within me. I didn't want any more foreplay, I didn't want his finger, I wanted his cock, and I wanted it inside of me at that moment.

"Please Jack," I whimpered, reaching back behind him to grasp his backside. "Please now...God, I need you...I love you...Please."

His eyes darkened and a thrill of desire coursed through me, causing me to grow even wetter, which I wouldn't have thought possible. He tore the wrapper from the condom, his movements shaky as he pulled it on and then he was right where I wanted him to be, filling me and tumbling me over the precipice once more, riding me hard and fast as I screamed and writhed beneath him.

I didn't care at that time if the neighbors heard or if we broke the table; nothing mattered except for him and me. He pulled my legs up, resting them briefly on his shoulders before placing a hand behind each knee, spreading me as far as I would go as he took me very thoroughly.

"Say that you're mine," he growled, his rhythm growing more frantic as he neared his moment. "Promise that you'll never leave me."

I gasped that I was his, only his and that I would never leave him, and moments before he found his release I rediscovered my own and dimly I was aware of the table breaking beneath us moments before Jack lifted me from its crumbling top and we stayed that way, him holding me, still buried deep inside of me, both of us laughing through the post-orgasm shudders and cries.

Neither of us took notice of the face watching us, the little mind wondering at the bizarre customs of humans, speculating as to whether or not she'd ever grow used to their quirks.


	13. Some Other Time and Place

Chapter Thirteen

Some Other Time and Place

Jack's POV

A week had passed by since Dainty and I had demolished the kitchen table with our passionate lovemaking, and we hadn't made love since that night because Violet started her period shortly after that and had promptly grown self-conscious and unwilling for me to even hint that I was going to be intimate with her. I had gone without sex, well, sex with another person, for periods that extended much longer than a week, but I'd never missed intimate contact as much as I did at now, and I could have cried with happiness when I discovered that today was the day, the curse was lifted, and I was going to be getting busy with my ladylove tonight.

It was a messy and painful process, one that had been beyond my understanding, but during this week I had learned that it was truly a cruel burden placed upon women, and I was thankful that I didn't have to personally endure the cramps, the bloating and most especially, the bleeding from a place that's suddenly off-limits to a man who has grown very attached to that area. I have to wonder if women refer to this time as their period to signify "period of suffering" or "period of no nookie", both of which are painful to every man who is personally involved, and affected by the process.

Anyhoo, I was very much looking forward to the...ahem..._extracurricular_ activities that I had planned with my Dainty that night, and I had gone the extra mile throughout the day to be as romantic as I could be, wooing my sweet baby girl, prepping for the lovemaking that night with kisses and caresses, sweet nothings and significant words of love and fidelity whispered into my Dainty's ear. Shameless self-promotion, yes, it is true, but I reasoned that I had to kindle the fire throughout the day, assuring that I would be able to stoke an all-consuming fire within her that would keep us wrapped up in one another all through the night.

There had been a little sadness for me with the arrival of Dainty's monthly, as bad as the timing was at the moment, because a secret part of my soul had been hoping for there to be a baby, my baby, growing within her womb, but I suppose that it was for the best that I hadn't managed to impregnate her, not with all of the problems hanging over us and the danger that circled us all day, every day. The meaner side of my persona whispered to me that I had no business being a husband, let alone a father, after all, what did I know about loving and nurturing... but I knew better. I knew that I had the potential inside of me to be both a good and doting husband and father, when the time was right; at least, I hoped I did.

We were in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, and I looked over at the space that our table had occupied with fondness, replaying each moment of our time on that tabletop, and I in the end I had to force my mind back to the chore at hand with a good deal of reluctance, lest I get carried away with the memory and be forced to ravish my Dainty right then and there. She was washing a plate, staring off into space, and it startled me to realize that her eyes were starting to fill with tears.

"What's wrong, baby?" I asked, turning her so that I could put my arms around her. She rubbed her face against my chest and let go of her tears, sobbing softly as I tried in vain to comfort her, each shudder and hiccup tearing through my heart. I don't know if there was anything more painful to me than to see my sweet baby girl cry, and if there was, I hoped that I never had to experience that pain. "Please don't cry, Violet. Please tell me what I need to do to make you happy."

She rubbed her hands against my back, consoling me, knowing that it was destroying me to see her in tears. "Did I ever tell you how close Poppy and I were when we were younger?" she asked, her face still buried against my chest.

That was a surprise to me, as a matter of fact it was damn near impossible for me to imagine that her and her sister had ever had any tolerance for one another, let alone a friendship. "She was more of a mother to me than my own mother ever was," she continued, her voice growing choked as she spoke of her mother and her sister, and I could see how the lack of motherly love would be unbearable for any child, especially a daughter. "She protected me as much as was possible. She was the center of my entire world, the foundation for the person I was, and whether or not my life served any purpose whatsoever. I never had any reason to believe that she would hate me one day, that she'd sell me out for a man who had tossed her over for someone he believed to be better than she was."

I didn't know what I could say at that point that would amount to anything more than useless murmuring, so I stayed quiet, leading her over to one of the kitchen chairs and taking a seat, pulling her onto my lap and running my hand gently through her hair, encouraging her to continue.

"Rizzuto had dumped Poppy for a younger woman, devastating her, destroying her hopes and dreams and making her seem more and more pathetic with each passing day. She told me on that horrible day that she was going to go to his warehouse, that she was going to win him back, and I begged her not to go. I knew that she was very drunk and that he would hurt her in some way, I knew that he was capable of damaging her irreparably. She went anyway and I followed her, but I got stopped for speeding and I arrived at Rizzuto's warehouse too late to stop him from raping my sister."

She paused for a moment, and took a deep breath to steady herself before continuing. "I'd heard her screaming for help as I'd run inside and when I saw what he'd done to her, I just lost it completely. I grabbed a box cutter that was lying on a table by the door and I ran for him, pulling him off and out of my sister, and I just started cutting him. I wanted to cut off that part of his body that had debased my sister, and for a moment it seemed that I would achieve my goal, but all I got in the end was one of his balls."

Let me interrupt here for just a moment to share a few of the thoughts that were racing through my head. The first was that no matter how much a man deserved castration, it was always going to be a topic of conversation that caused any man hearing the words to grimace and cross his legs at the idea of _any_ part of his manhood being sliced off of his body. Secondly, I wondered how something like that could have escaped my notice when I saw Rizzuto being...ahem… intimate...with Francesca. I suppose the answer was that I was more concentrated on _her_ anatomy...I'm such a pig...and so I failed to notice that Tony was operating as a one-balled wonder.

..."I had called the cops from outside the warehouse when I arrived," she continued, her voice taking on an odd monotone that I'd never heard before. "They pulled me away from Rizzuto before I had the chance to finish what I'd started, and my sister chose that moment to start screaming like a banshee and accuse me of attacking Tony for no good reason. Of course, there was irrefutable evidence stacked against me, but she knew what had happened just as well as I did, and she lied...in a desperate and pathetic attempt to convince the bastard who had just raped her to take her back, she threw her baby sister to the wolves."

She was sobbing again by this time, and though it was killing me to have to watch her and hear her, to be stabbed by the pain coursing through her, I made myself stay strong, to give her my shoulder, my hands, my chest, anything she needed to get through this memory. She had to flush it out of her heart, her mind, and her soul in order for the healing to begin, and I knew that no matter how her tears hurt me, they were necessary if she was to her exorcise her demons.

"If it hadn't been for the support of my attorney, Henry Hale, I would have just been killed," she said her voice growing a little stronger as anger joined in the gamut of emotions that were coursing through her. "He made sure that I received as fair a trial as Rizzuto and his far-reaching influence would allow. If it was left up to that monster I would have got one behind the ear, following a beating and a violation, more than likely. The reason I was sent to Arkham was because that sadistic monster King and his goons were on Tony's payroll. You should have heard the performance my sister gave on the witness stand. Had it been seen and heard by the people in Hollywood, she probably would've hooked herself a primo acting gig. I was sent to Arkham, anticipating at any moment to have my throat sliced or to be raped and/or beaten, but just my luck, they put me in a cell next to a guy that painted his face and sang to me all of the time."

I wasn't sure whether she regarded that meeting as a positive thing to begin with, but then she raised her face and smiled tremulously at me, showing me that she was just teasing me.

"And it was just my luck that they put this chick in the cell next to me, and of course, she instantly finds me irresistible...staring at me all the time, trying to catch a peek at my studly physique by watching me through a hole in the wall...definite stalker with a potentially fatal attraction towards me."

She laughed; a delicate snort escaping that caused her to blush. "They didn't know what they were doing, putting me next to you, or they never would have done it," she said, reaching a hand out to twine her fingers tightly with mine. "They put me right into the path of a man who was waiting to pick up the pieces of my broken heart. You were there to love me, to heal me, and to complete me, and in so many different ways you were my deliverance, and for that I owe them a thank you, although for nothing else, because if they hadn't thought that it would be a cruel punishment, I never would have known you."

I had learned many years before that tears were dangerous, they drew the attention of predators quicker than anything else, so needless to say I was surprised to feel the warmth trickling down my cheeks, running soothingly over the puckered flesh at the corners of my mouth, before continuing their trek to drip down onto my shirt. Her love for me was more complete than I ever thought would be possible for a twisted weirdo like myself, and the trust and the faith that she placed in me, on me, were humbling and heartening. I clasped her to my chest, sobs choking me as I rocked her back and forth, and what had started as a healing for her became a restorative for each of us.

We stayed that way for a time that may have been minutes, or hours, I don't know, and as we calmed a funny observation popped into my mind, and I felt compelled to share it with her.

"Your parents must have foreseen your future behavior when they named you," I said, smiling as confusion took hold of her face. "If you put an N between the E and the T, then your name would be _Violent_...pretty cool, huh?"

Violet's POV

I was torn between the feelings of being completely worn-out emotionally and the sensation that an enormous weight had been lifted from my shoulders, affording me with an overall lightheartedness and a sense of being happy and at peace. It was the first time in my life that I could remember that I wasn't scared of what was ahead of me, because I had Jack, and I knew that there was nothing and no one that could hurt me as long as I had him by my side.

We had moved from the kitchen to the living room and were cuddled up together on the couch, me still on his lap, with Tootsie curled up on the cushion next to us. Jack seemed more content now that I wasn't crying, but there were still shadows of worry in his eyes, and I remembered that there had been something he'd wanted to speak to me about after Poppy's visit the week before, but I had been more than a little preoccupied at the time when he'd wanted to talk, and I'd convinced him to wait. The days that followed had been filled with cramps and bloating, not to mention just feeling icky from head-to-toe, and he had wisely avoided any subject that didn't deal with rubbing my aching back or bringing me something, anything with chocolate in it. It was a divine miracle that I hadn't packed on ten pounds when you took into account how many brownies I'd snarfed down, but I'd survived the curse once more, untouched except for the little ache of loss that I'd suffered when I knew that any hope I'd been holding onto for a baby was gone with that first cramp that had laced through my tummy.

"What's got you so upset tonight, Sweetie?" I asked quietly, reaching my hand up to rub against his cheek, turning his head so that he was looking at me. "I hope you know that there's nothing that you've done that would stop me from loving you."

His eyes widened and he nuzzled his cheek against my palm, almost seeming as though he needed to feel my hands against his scars, an action that usually made him uncomfortable at best, and when he was already edgy, could make him almost confrontational. He'd been holding me in his arms, nestled into the comforting warmth and strength that they provided, and he tightened his hold on me to a point that was almost painful, the obvious need to feel me against him showing that he was feeling insecure.

"Maybe you should wait, ahem, until after I tell you what I've done to say that," he whispered, the timbre of his voice becoming more stilted and childlike, telling me that it wasn't only my Jack who was in the room with me. It was difficult at times, knowing that this killer personality shared the same body with the man that I loved, but I'd had to face the facts that if I was going to be with Jack, if I was truly going to love him as my man and as my soul mate, I had to acknowledge that I shared that love with the Joker as well. I laughed with him, cried with him, shared a home and a bed with him, and I made love to him as well. So whatever had been done, whatever secrets Jack shared with the clown, I knew that I had to forgive both of them, or my acceptance of Jack would be incomplete.

"I don't have to wait to tell you," I answered, leaning forward to kiss him softly. "The love is there, will always be there, and it is strong enough to withstand anything. So please tell me what it is that's bothering you so much."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his arms around me tightening once more, just briefly, before he dropped his hold on me and settled back against the couch. "Three years ago I stole five hundred thousand dollars from a mob fool named Anthony Rizzuto. I figured that I was, ah, very clever and that it was no great loss to anyone that one criminal robbed another criminal of his ill-gotten gains. He never found out that I was the one who robbed him, and I just assumed that it was a clean break for me, that I'd never have to answer to anyone for what I'd done, but then one day you came to Arkham, and I knew that my actions had finally come back to haunt me. I felt like my punishment was to know that you'd been hurt by him and that maybe it was payback for what I'd done."

"Oh, Sweetie," I whispered, running my hand back behind him to rub the tightened muscles in his neck. "That wasn't something that you caused to happen, and it certainly wasn't your fault."

He raised his hand and placed his fingertip against my lips, shushing any other words that I might have spoken. "I fell in love with you the first time I saw you, and it was an emotion that I'd thought was off-limits to me. See, ah, I'd _lusted_ after women before, I'd even explored that lust with some of them, but I'd never really felt that lightening in my soul, that clenching of my heart. There wasn't much that could be done to Rizzuto inside the nuthouse, but once we were out, once we were all free, I decided that it was time that Rizzuto felt what it was like to be scared, just like he'd scared you, the girl that I love."

It was a little frightening to hear him speak in this way, not knowing which of them was the dominant personality at the moment, knowing that both Jack and the clown were struggling for control, but I realized that if I was really going to stick it out with him, I'd have to get used to the occasional visit from the Joker.

"Jelly Belly Romaro was the first pawn in my plan to bring Rizzuto down, one peg at a time. It was an old rumor that Jelly liked boys more than girls, and it was speculated that he was in love with Tony, hence his absolute loyalty. I don't know if it was true or not, but Rizzuto himself must have had his own worries, because he had such a visceral reaction when he was faced with the, ah, evidence of his best friends appetite for the male appendage. I didn't take fat boy's life myself, but I placed him in the situation that killed him in the end, thus taking from Tony his best friend and most trusted employee. My next pawn was the mistress that had taken your sister's place, Francesca Lipari. I knew that the loss of her would be much more devastating to Rizzuto, but I couldn't abide the thought of violence being done to her, despite the fact that she's a cold-blooded reptile, and in the end made due with setting things up so that she'd think that Tony was screwing around on her. I knew that her vanity would prove to be her downfall, and she didn't disappoint on that assumption, flying into a rage when she discovered that the married man who was screwing her on the side would dare to be unfaithful to her...ironic, huh? I employed a prostitute to pose as Tony's on the side of his on the side squeeze, and while I did photograph her in the, ah, buff, I didn't touch her in any way and I did my best to not even look at her."

I was pretty much in shock by this point of the conversation but I still managed to smile when I saw how worried he was that I'd think that maybe he'd done more than take photos of the prostitute, but his worries were all in vain. I hadn't had many opportunities to feel jealous about my Jack, and I hoped to never find myself in that position, but I also knew that I could trust him, and that he wouldn't screw around on me.

"There's one other thing that you need to know," he said, bringing my attention back to the conversation at hand. "It probably wasn't a serious blow to Rizzuto, but it was something that needed to be done, for you and me both. I found out where King was living and I rounded up some fellow loonies and took them to his home. Again, I was not the one to actually snuff out his life, but I was the one who facilitated the process. Society would say that I'm a psychopath, or at the very least, a deranged, half-assed vigilante, but I did what I thought was necessary for us to survive, to try for a normal existence. I would understand if you wanted me to leave now, or if you felt the need to leave me. I want you to stay with me, but I'll understand if that's something that makes you gag to when you contemplate it."

I could see that he fully expected me to leave him, which was absolutely ridiculous, and it hurt me, but it also annoyed me just a little. What was it going to take to convince him that I loved him unconditionally? Did he even comprehend what those words meant when they were said together? Then it dawned on me that no, he didn't, and all the irritation that I'd felt flowed out of me. Poor soul, he was far more damaged than I was and it would take a lot of reassurance and demonstration to convince him that I wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm here to stay, Sweetie," I murmured, lowering my lips to his face to caress his scars with my mouth. "I don't know why you think that I'd leave, or that I'd want you to leave, because I have plans for you tonight."

He gasped and turned his face to capture my lips, his tongue desperate and hungry as it filled my mouth. He was shaking against me and I wrapped him up tightly in my arms, in the hope of soothing him. There had been revelations tonight that would take time to be accepted completely, but he hadn't told me anything that I couldn't live with, wrong as it may have been for me to say. I was no stranger to the strength that a need for vengeance contained, I knew how it could consume you, so who was I to judge what he'd done to protect our new life together?

Our embrace was growing more and more heated, his hands venturing around to my breasts, and I was so lost in the moment that I failed to notice Tootsie to begin with. I only became aware of the sudden change in her demeanor when she leapt off of the sofa, a soft growl of warning deep in her throat, and then there was a soft scratching on the front door, a quiet sound, but one that scared me none the less.

Jack moved me off of his lap and rose to his feet. "Friend or foe, Tootsie Roll?" he whispered, taking hold of my Louisville Slugger as he moved out into the hallway and headed towards the front door. Tootsie whimpered and shook her head, obviously torn between how our visitor would be classified. Jack told me to stay put in the living room and I told him that Hell would freeze over before I let him answer that door alone, and so the three of us tiptoed towards the door, Jack leading with the bat raised. The scratching began again when we reached our destination and Jack had a look out the peephole, and what he saw there caused him to swear harshly beneath his breath and he dropped the bat, swinging open the door to admit Wonko into the foyer, his shirt stained crimson while his life slowly oozed from his body.

Jack grabbed hold of Wonko and told me to shut and lock the door. He laid his friend down onto the hardwood floor and tore off his own shirt, pressing it hard against the wounds that were freely bleeding. He told me to go get the first aid kit out of the bathroom, but Wonko stopped me from complying by reaching out to grab hold of my arm. "No matter what she says, it's a lie," he whispered brokenly, blood tingeing his lips as he spoke. "Don't trust her...can't trust her, please." I looked at Jack, wondering who Wonko was talking about, and from the grim look on Jack's face, I was willing to bet that he had a good idea who it was.

Wonko coughed, the sound both wet and viscous, and more blood appeared on his lips. He weakly grabbed hold of Jack and stared at him. "Sorry, boss...I held out as long as I could, but it's my fault that she found you. They're coming for you tonight...Rizzuto's coming for both of you...kill both of you...so sorry, boss."

It was then that I knew who "she" was, and my hatred for my sister reached its boiling point as I watched Wonko take his last pained breath, his life fading from him in a whisper of exhaled breath. I had never witnessed anyone's death before, let alone the bloody departure of someone that I'd known, and I blinked back the tears that appeared to sting my eyes, knowing that Jack needed me now, and I needed him if we were going to survive the night to come.

Jack touched Wonko's hand for just a moment and asked me to help him to move the body into the kitchen. It was a struggle but we finally managed to get him moved, and I covered him with one of my tablecloths while Jack mopped up the blood from the foyer and the hallway. His face was grim as he reentered the room, and I wondered what we're going to do. Jack looked up at me, as though I'd spoken the words aloud.

"We can't call anyone for help, because no one would help us. I'm going to call Herb and Ida and convince them to leave for the night. I have no idea what I'm going to tell them, but there's no way I'm going to have their deaths on my conscience. You are going to take Tootsie and leave here. There's two hundred thousand dollars in the spare tire for the car, in the trunk. Take that and get as far away from Gotham as possible."

He grabbed hold of me, his arms all but crushing me as he held me tight for what he thought was the final time. He lowered his head and kissed me, his lips and tongue taking hold of me, cherishing me as though it were our first kiss, or what he was assuming was our last kiss. I took full advantage of the moment, never one who would waste the feel of his arms and lips on my body, but obviously he needed some reminding about standing together, no matter what came our way.

"I love you, my Dainty," he whispered as he raised his head. "But it's time for you to go now."

"The hell it is," I countered, placing my hands upon my hips and giving him my best glare. "If you think I'm leaving you here, alone, then you have completely lost your mind. You may think that you're doing the honorable thing by staying here to die while you send me off to live without you, and if your opinion of me if that damn low you may as well just put me out on the curb with the rest of the garbage right now. I'm staying right here, with you, and if you're thinking of trying some dumb-assed maneuver like manhandling me out of this house, then I'd suggest that you arm yourself right now, because we both know how crazy I can get, don't we?"

He stared back at me, trying his best to appear mean and commanding, but then he ruined the image with an exasperatedly amused grin. "Alright then, Miss _Violent_," he said, willing to compromise on that point, but not on the fact that he was in charge. "You're my second in this fight, but you remember that this is my command, and I don't take too kindly to insubordination." I nodded my agreement, grateful to be spared the responsibility of commander. I trusted Jack to keep us safe and to get us out of this mess alive. There was only going to be one person that I would insist on dealing with personally, because I figured that she was my responsibility.

"Well, then," Jack said, grabbing my hand to lead me out of the kitchen. "We'll get started now, and we'll have to hurry. They'll want to strike early so they'll have plenty of time to play before the sun comes up."


	14. I Fought the Law, and the Law Won

Chapter Fourteen

I Fought the Law...and the Law Won

Jack's POV

Well, there I was, back in my old cell at Arkham, same old cot, same old walls, only now splashed with the urine and decorated with the smeared boogers of the resident who had occupied the space while I had my brief taste of freedom. Nothing had changed, I could still hear the screaming up and down the corridor, could still smell overcooked cabbage wafting through the building from the cafeteria, the only thing that had changed was my roommate, and after my time spent snuggled by and loving on my Dainty, let's just say that my new cellmate left a lot to be desired.

Wendell Spivey, the aforementioned wall art specialist, offering both piss and nostril nuggets as mediums, was a person who practiced no visible means of hygiene, in addition to his proclivities as a murdering, cannibalistic pederast. I would have murdered him myself if I could have reached him, but the fact was that I was currently trussed up inside a highly uncomfortable straitjacket, in addition to the chain around my waist that was fastened to the wall behind me hindered my homicidal urges . Long story short, I couldn't move, let alone attack the sick bastard, no matter how much I wanted to.

You're probably wondering how I managed to get myself thrown into the psycho version of the hoosegow once more, when it seemed so definite that I had started a nice life with my Dainty, complete with the picturesque house and the loyal dog, aren't you? Well, it all had to do with the night that Rizzuto and his thugs invaded my home, threatening me, menacing my pooch and having the balls to put my sweet baby girl into a perilous spot, and needless to say, I reacted, and in a way that made it necessary that I would be placed back between the walls of the Arkham Asylum.

It had been a welcome home night for the criminal clown that resided within me, a night filled with the blood-soaked fantasies that I had pushed to the furthest recesses of my mind. The knife had felt good in my hand, like a long-lost friend that paid me a visit. I had dispatched the goons quite easily, managing to miraculously avoid their gunfire until there only remained Anthony Rizzuto in our home. It had been a little insulting to the criminal mastermind that I'd been in the past that he'd only brought three men with him, a paltry three that he'd counted on to protect him from the big, bad clown.

It had been a very satisfying experience to slide my favorite blade against Rizzuto's neck, lightly slicing the flesh so that thin rivulets of blood trickled down to stain the collar of his shirt. He looked good in that color, crimson, and I decided that there should be more of the pigmentation, I thought that I ought to paint his entire body in that hue, and I would have, if I hadn't been interrupted.

I wish that I could have seen the look on my face when _he _had entered the room where I had wreaked my havoc on Rizzuto's men, because I would imagine that it had been very comical. It had been a long time since I'd exchanged pleasantries with The Bat, and it saddened me that in all that time he'd never developed a sense of humor, nor had he removed the stick that seemed to be permanently stuck in the dark recesses of his rectum.

Given his status as the frequent purveyor of sanctimonious garbage like "capture, but do not kill", I should have known that my moment of revenge would be thwarted by Batman, but it was still a disappointment to me, none the less. I hadn't been able to convince myself to step back graciously and allow him to protect the slime huddled at my feet however, and the swipe across Rizzuto's throat with the razor-sharp blade still clutched lovingly in my hand had sealed my fate, even though the pig had survived.

My most recent deeds, along with my countless other crimes, had sent me down the river, and I soon found myself ensconced once more in Arkham, a benevolent bit of mercy by the do-gooders, in the naïve hope, for the umpteenth time, that my criminally insane mind and soul would be soothed by the correct course of medication and group therapy provided within...what a bunch of delusional morons.

This was a song and dance that I had performed so many times throughout my life that I had actually lost track of the number, but this was the first time that I'd felt such a high amount of frustration. I had always plotted and then performed an escape fairly quickly, but now I felt a new sense of desperation. It was all due to being without my Dainty, of course, having to go through the hours without seeing her, without touching and kissing her. It was Hell, sheer and absolute Hell, and I was tiptoeing along the crumbly brink of genuine insanity without her.

The only bright spot in the entire event was that Commissioner Gordon had agreed to keep Violet in custody at his home, with his family, and would provide a fenced in yard for Tootsie as well, insuring that she wouldn't have to be kenneled somewhere. I knew that Gordon and his family would take good care of my girls, because in spite of the fact that I had personally bedeviled the man, he was fair and he was just, and he would insure that every step was taken to ensure Violet's safety and security.

My heart lightened as my cell door was unlocked and opened, admitting Dr. Leonard into my presence, hoping against hope that she had brought me news about my request to have a meeting with my Dainty. Violet's sentence was overturned when Rizzuto, and more importantly, her sister Poppy, testified of the true events that had taken place that night in the warehouse. Several of the honchos at Arkham had argued that she should be punished for the escape, but the brunt of that weight had fallen on me, thank God, and Violet received only probation as punishment.

If I had been expecting to see Violet, then I must be crazier than the powers that be at this hellhole liked to believe. I could tell by the self-satisfied smirk on Leonard's face that she relished the thought of dashing my hopes once more. Life had definitely taken a turn for the worst here at Arkham since Dainty and I had taken our leave, and all of the staff members seemed to be taking the fact that I'd made fools of them very personally.

"You have a visitor Mr. Hawkins," the good doctor simpered, as her guards unchained me from the wall of my cell. I tried to keep the hope that it might very well be my sweet baby girl who was waiting for me, but while I managed to keep the buoyant expression off of my face, my damned eyes must have brightened and Dr. Leonard pounced on that hopefulness the way a ravenous lion would pounce on a baby gazelle.

"You're never going to see that whore of yours again," she whispered, her voice dripping sugar, _sickening_ sugar, as she smiled at me. "You will be entombed in Arkham until the day you die, and she will forget all about you. You'll live and die with the knowledge that she will meet someone new, that she will marry him and lay beneath him each night, spreading her legs to be filled up with his children. She'll be the last thought on your mind as you slip from this world, Jack dear, and your dying misery will be the knowledge that she never really loved you at all."

I choked on my rage, knowing that the bitch was baiting me in an attempt to deny me access to my visitor, but I'd be damned if I'd give her that satisfaction. I didn't know who it was that was waiting for me, but I knew that anyone would be preferable to staying chained to this wall, listening to Wendell as he reminisced over his favorite murders and acts of despoiling, working himself into an orgasmic fury that would add his seed to the various other body fluids that were splashed on the walls of our cell.

Leonard seemed to be disappointed by my lack of reaction, and stepped out of the room when she saw that I was cooperating fully, allowing the guards to lead me down the hall toward one of the conference rooms. It turned out that my visitors were Commissioner Gordon and the ADA Rachel Dawes, who I'd been wrongfully accused of and convicted for the attempt on both her and her fiancé Harvey Dent's lives. The truth of the matter was that Rizzuto was responsible for that as well, but I had been the one who'd been easier to convict, so bip, bam, boom, that was that. I suppose it was easier for them to stick an additional twenty years onto my bid as opposed to actually finding someone who would have the balls...heh... to testify against Mr. Rizzuto.

The guards hustled me into a chair and chained me to it, each leg shackled and one chain wrapped several times around both my body and the chair, ensuring that there would be no possible way that I could harm my "guests". I wouldn't have touched them anyway; there was no chance of that happening no matter how I was situated into that chair. One of them was housing my girls, providing them with comfort and shelter, and the other held the keys to my cell, quite literally, in the palm of her hand. Besides which, odd as it might sound, I really didn't hold a quarrel with either of them anymore. I just wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible, so that I could have my girls, and my house, and my brand-new life.

"Hello, Jack," Gordon greeted me somewhat reservedly, obviously wondering whether or not I was going to play nice. He had good reason to wonder. God knows that I had demonstrated plenty of times in the past that I could be a very naughty boy when I was locked in a cage, often provoking, and sometimes even killing those who were there to watch over me. "How are you doing today?"

The urge to roll my eyes in response was very strong, almost overwhelming, as a matter of fact, but I resisted, knowing that I didn't want to piss off the one person who could offer me an update on my girls. "Peachy keen, Com-miss-ion-er Gordon," I answered, wincing at the sarcasm that was evident in my voice. What the hell was wrong with me today? It wasn't as though I didn't know better...sheesh. "And how are you on this fine day?" I hope that didn't sound as false to him as it did to me...damn it.

"I'm doing very well Jack, thank you for asking."

I was all but dancing in my chair by this time, more likely than not projecting the image of someone who was in desperate need to use the facilities, but it wasn't the need to take a whizz that was making me antsy, it was the need that I had to hear about my Dainty, and how she was, and what she was wearing today, etcetera, etcetera.

"I'm sure that you remember Miss Dawes?" Gordon asked, while gesturing to the ADA seated to his right. I wanted to respond that I wasn't a simpleton who was unable to remember the woman that I'd been accused of trying to kill, but again I held my tongue, knowing that Dr. Leonard was watching, just waiting for me to start acting cuckoo so that she could hustle me back to my booger and piss filled cell.

"Yes, of course I remember Miss Dawes," I answered. "How has life been treating you as of late, Miss Dawes?"

She was watching me warily, and I couldn't blame her for her apprehension any more than I could blame Gordon. I had threatened her in the past, I had traced the point of my knife along the lines of her cheekbones, and I had thrown her out of a window, laughing like a loon...heh...when Batman had chased her out of that window...okay, I've gotten way off track. Long story short, the lovely ADA had several very good reasons to not trust me.

"I can't complain, Mr. Hawkins," she answered, her voice neither friendly nor hostile. "Commissioner Gordon and I have come to offer you a new lease on life, a reduction of your sentence, but this offer comes with some steep requirements on your part."

Oh, sure...like that was going to be a major change of pace. Every damn day that had passed since I'd been separated from my loved ones had been filled with events that personified "steep requirements". It was an unreasonable condition that I shared a cell with a loony that wasn't fit to room with anyone, that I had to endure the near constant harassment of Dr. Leonard and her cronies, that I had to endure an existence where I couldn't see, talk to, hold, kiss or make love to a woman that was the center of my world. Hell, I knew all about "steep requirements" and I'd complain about them to my visitors if I thought that they'd give a flying fig, but all things considered, I doubt that I'd find much sympathy with them.

"Your current sentence sits at thirty-five years of incarceration in Arkham Asylum," Miss Dawes continued, flipping through the tome that represented every moment of my life since the first day that I'd walked through the doors of this dump. "Twenty years of that bid was due to your conviction for the bombing that nearly cost me and Harvey Dent our lives. We have a confession from Anthony Rizzuto, signed this morning, where he has accepted responsibility for that crime, admitting that you were framed, so with that charge removed, you're down to fifteen years."

Fifteen years still sounded like a life sentence to me, but for once in my life I did the smart thing and kept my damn mouth shut.

"We have found and seized all of your assets, and after much deliberation, it has been decided that we would make you the offer of incarceration here at Arkham for ten years, requiring that you serve five of those years before parole would be granted."

They found all of my money huh? Well, that was just fine and frickin' dandy. And even the idea of five years, while damn sure better than fifteen, sounded like a hideously long time to be away from my girls. Why would Violet want to hang around, waiting for me, for that long when she had the opportunity for a new life that didn't involve a romance with a psychopath?

"If you accept this deal," Gordon interrupted, seeing this as his moment to take up the reigns of the conversation. "You will be moved to a new cell, a single occupant cell. We have seen the conditions where you've been housed since returning, and it's not fit for human occupation, nor is your roommate suitable for your rehabilitation process. Dr. Leonard has been removed from handling your care and has been replaced by Dr. Weaver. You must participate in counseling three days per week and will perform community service, under direct supervision, of course, to repay your debt to the citizens of Gotham. Any attempts to escape, or any outbursts of violence will make this new deal null and void."

There were some parts of this new deal that sounded primo to me, like the new room and the new doc. Weaver was a crusty old bird, half deaf and crotchety as hell, but compared with Leonard he would be a dream come true. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of the counseling or the community service, but it was expected and I would do it, though the sharing and examination of my feelings seemed like a complete waste of time to me. I also wasn't a fool, I knew that I'd have to be a good little boy, and resist the urge to bring the crazy clown locked inside of me out to play. There was just one thing left in the air, and I had a feeling that I wasn't going to like that part of the deal at all.

"You may communicate with Violet limitlessly through the mail, though I have to tell you that all incoming and outgoing mail will be monitored by me and my officers, so nothing steamy, please. You will be allowed one phone call per week, and will be allowed thirty minutes for your conversations. You will also be allowed one visit with Violet per year, on Christmas Day, which will last for eight hours, but there will be no conjugal time allowed during these visitations. Have you understood everything that I've told you, Mr. Hawkins?"

Did I understand that they'd just offered me the moon and let me bask in its luminosity, only to have them yank it away from me moments later and tell me that I had actually been intended to only receive a Moon Pie? Yeah, I caught that just fine. Letters back and forth, pieces of paper that I couldn't even use to purge my lustful thoughts upon. Thirty minutes of conversation per week...how could I be expected to condense everything I wanted, everything that I _needed_ to say into thirty lousy minutes? And one visit per year, one damned day out of three hundred and sixty five...what the hell was I supposed to do, how was I expected to get through all of those long, lonely days without my Dainty? And the absolute kicker was the fact that I would get to make sweet love to my hand for the next five years...oh joy, oh rapture, happy days have come at last. I wanted to scream at them. I wanted to tear at their throats with my teeth, but in my heart I knew that this was the only way. It was the only option, the knowledge that I would suffer for five years for the chance to live happily for a lifetime. Damn, that pissed me off...but what other option did I have?

"Uh...okay Gordo...you've got me," I answered, fighting against the lump that was lodged in my throat. "Where do I put my John Hancock?"

Christmas, Year One

Violet's POV

He's thinner than he was when I'd last seen him, which was no surprise given the gag factor of the slop that they serve in this hellhole. I had went out and bought myself a new dress for this day, a fitted number in the perfect shade of violet, and I knew that I had done well when I saw his eyes light up when I walked into the room provided for us. They'd brought in a Christmas tree and had allowed me to bring dinner for us, my home cooking, which Jack fell upon like a man who'd been starving to death.

It was so hard for us to embrace, to kiss passionately, the flames that were banked within us flaring to life the moment we touched, only to be reminded by a disembodied voice that only minimal intimacy was allowed. How the hell could they expect us to kiss each other's cheeks and hold hands when we'd been away from one another for so long? It had been just as effective of a punishment for me as though they'd locked me up as well, in a separate prison. I couldn't complain about my life with the Gordon family, they were wonderful people who had embraced me into their home as though I shared blood with them. The days were filled with several lonely moments, but it was the nights that were nearly unbearable.

My sister had finally shown some backbone when she recanted her previous testimony and bailed me out. A small part of me had wished that her actions would be enough to mend the rift between us, but it didn't excuse all of her sins. She was now serving time for her own involvement in Rizzuto's schemes, although her ten years probably sounded sweet to him when compared with the forty that he was serving.

"You haven't unwrapped your present yet," Jack whispered, running his hand beneath my hair and baring the back of my neck, running his lips and then his tongue over the sensitive flesh at my nape. I shivered and pressed myself back against him for a few moments and then quickly moved away, knowing that they would feel the need to butt in once more if they saw us getting too familiar.

I crossed the room and picked up the box wrapped in newspaper comic pages, pausing to grin at Jack before I tore the paper off of it. It was a small package, very light, and I gasped with surprise when a lovely bracelet fell out, various shades of purple beads strung on an elastic cord. It was a lovely gift, one that he'd obviously spent a good deal of time on, and I slid it onto my wrist before raising myself onto my tiptoes to hug and kiss him, whispering my thanks for the wonderful present.

"It's just a cheap bracelet," he replied, and I knew that it bothered him that he wasn't able to purchase anything for me, just like I knew that it was sheer Hell for him to be locked in this place. I think he worried that I would tire of waiting for him and find someone new, but that would never happen. There could never be any other man for me, no one but my Jack.

"Are you talking trash about my bracelet, mister?" I asked, striving to make my voice stern and chastising, but failing miserably. "This happens to be a one of a kind collector's piece, I'll have you know. I guess it just goes to show that you have no clue as to the true value of jewelry."

He smiled happily and ran his finger across the bracelet. "I'll remind you of that when I get out of here and bring you cheap, homemade jewelry for gifts, baby girl."

The talk about him getting out reminded us both of how long away that time was, and all of the lonely days that would pass by while we were kept apart, and I felt tears starting up in my eyes, and a lump forming in my throat and I mentally scolded myself, reminding myself that this was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about that sort of thing.

"Now that I've opened my gift it's time for you to receive yours," I told him, grabbing his hand to pull him over to the present that I have propped against the wall by the Christmas tree. I left him some money in his account, so that he could have funds for things that were considered luxuries in this dump, like sodas and candy bars, but this gift was something that I'd made for him, a homemade present that I'd okayed with the head honchos here at the asylum before bringing it to Jack.

He tore the paper away and once he'd revealed what was inside he sank down onto the sofa, staring at his gift while his lips trembled. That damn near did me in once more, but instead of breaking down, I crossed over to the sofa and sat beside him, laying my head on his shoulder while I hugged him close with my arm.

I'd drawn a picture of our family, me and Jack and Tootsie, sitting in a manner that suggested that we had posed for the portrait. I wasn't the best artist in the world, but I was okay, and judging by the look on Jack's face, I'd say that I'd done a pretty good job.

"Only four more Christmases like this one, Sweetie," I whispered, leaning forward to kiss his cheek as I held him close to my side. "Then this picture will be a reality and we'll all be together again."


	15. A Happily Ever After

Chapter Fifteen

A Happily Ever After

Violet's POV

It was sometimes said that the older you get, the faster time flies by, but here I am, five years older than I was when my Jack was taken back to Arkham, and the past five years have dragged by in a manner that made it feel as though I had been waiting for him to be released for at least twenty years.

I was in the back yard of my new home, _our_ new home, tending to the flower garden that had been established by the elderly couple who had lived in the house for fifty years. There were irises and roses, lilies and tulips, and the newest addition that I had added myself...the violets. It was a fragrant rainbow that greeted me every time I stepped outdoors, and it helped to raise my spirits, that bevy of blossoms that signified newborn life and fresh beginnings.

The house was a remnant of the times following World War Two, when the nation had experienced a boom, a revival of life and of spirit. The previous owners, Mort and Lil, had modernized some things, but in lieu of a dryer there were clothes lines strung outside, and I found that it was a calming experience for me, a homey feeling, to hang my clothes up on the lines. Of course, that was bound to change, once winter arrived.

I would have never even imagined that it would be possible for me to have a home that I held the deed to, but here I was, and the only thing that I needed now was for my Jack to be home so that he could share it with me. I had loved living with the Gordon's and had stayed at their house for three years, but then the need to have a place for all of my family to call home had become an overwhelming desire for me. It was an answered prayer when this tiny house had become available, with a mortgage that I could afford, and a spacious fenced-in yard for Tootsie and her pups.

That's right, I said pups... two to be exact. The little tramp had joined up with the Gordon's next-door neighbor's Welsh corgi...I guess she stood in a ditch so he could reach her goodies...and the next thing I knew her belly was growing. Jinx and Taboo were two little mongrel cutie pies, just as pretty as their momma, and I hoped that Jack wouldn't mind the fact that his house had been overrun by a bunch of bitches.

The little devils had been racing around the yard all morning, grabbing hold of my sheets which were drying on the line and pulling at them with all of their might in an effort to tear them free, followed by pouncing in and out of my laundry basket and having their little tushes patted when they scattered my clothespins from one side of the yard to another.

I had just finished with the flowers and was thinking to myself that a glass of lemonade would be nice when a shadow fell over me, and from what I could see, the dark form belonged to a man. A momentary uneasiness came over me and I searched frantically for a weapon that I might use to defend myself, but then I took notice of my pooches. Taboo and Jinx seemed to be confused, but not frightened, and Tootsie's tail was wagging, and her body was wriggling, a sure sign that our guest was not a stranger, but a trusted friend.

"It should invoke wholesome images in my head, the sight of you bent over those flowers," a voice said, a voice that I knew as well as my own. "But I'll be damned if I'm going to waste this picture by thinking of anything as mundane as _wholesome_."

I jumped up and nearly lost my balance in my haste to reach him, and thankfully for me...and the flowers...he was quick on his feet and managed to prevent me from pitching backwards into the flowerbed. I have no doubt that my butt would have caused horrific devastation to the blossoms, a tragedy that they'd never recover from.

I was covered in dirt, and no doubt smelled and felt sweaty, but that was the last thing on my mind as he lifted me in his arms, holding me so close that I would swear I heard my back pop, but at that moment I could have cared less. All I cared about was that he was home, for good, and I'd never have to through another day without him.

"Why didn't you call me to let me know that they'd granted you early release?" I asked while I twined my legs around his waist, desperate to have every part of me touching some part of him. "I wasn't expecting you for another week."

"I wanted to surprise you," he answered, reaching his hands down to grasp hold of my backside while simultaneously burying his face in the crook of my neck, breathing in my scent...which had to be less than pleasant...and moaning deep in his throat. "My sweet baby girl," he murmured. "I can't tell you how much I've missed you."

"But if I'd known, I could have had the house ready, with me and the girls spiffed up as opposed to..._oomph_."

His lips stifled me, a hungry kiss that was in no danger of being interrupted by anyone. There were no prying eyes here...except for the dogs...no chaperone to dictate to us how much affection we could show for one another, and it felt like our first kiss, the same wonderment and discovery, only now it could lead to other wondrous things that weren't hindered by the uneasiness of going too far, too fast.

"You couldn't have made my homecoming more perfect than it is right now," he said, tearing his lips away from mine for just a moment, sounding as breathless as I felt. "Unless you had been willing to meet me naked and covered in chocolate, waiting for me to lick you all over from head to toe, at the front door."

Mmm, yummy...that definitely sounded nice to me, but I'd have to shower first. I thought to myself that it would be a good time for me to put things on hold for a moment and go cleanse myself so that I wouldn't be so self-conscious, but judging by the look on Jack's face it would seem that idea was out of the question.

He carried me over to the spot in the yard where there was a large oak tree and lowered himself to his knees to lay me down onto the cool grass that rested beneath the canopy of the lush branches. He looked over to where Tootsie was sitting with her pups, three sets of curious eyes that were watching us very carefully.

"A little privacy please," he said, and to my shock Tootsie got to her feet and took hold of her offspring's collars, dragging them over to the side of the house where they'd be unable to watch us.

Jack smiled wickedly at me as he lowered his body down on top of mine. "Now then my Dainty," he murmured as he lowered his head to kiss me. "Right here, right now, just the two of us, this is the best "welcome home, Jack" present that you could have ever given me."

Jack's POV

It had been so long since I tasted her, so long since I felt the lushness of her body beneath me, and I knew this first time would end too quickly. Five years without sex was always a frustrating, punishing situation, but once you'd made love to the _one_, to your soul mate, it was nearly unbearable. Just lying there with her made me nearly lose control over myself. I wanted to tear off her clothes and have her immediately, but reminded myself that it had been five years and that taking things as slowly as was possible would be a good idea.

I knew that she was worried about the fact that she was a little dusty and a little sweaty, but what she didn't realize was that topping all of that was that wonderful smell of woman, of _my_ woman, and it was stimulating to me, almost like the hint of musk that an animal would use to attract her mate.

I took hold of her mouth, kissing her as deeply as I had wanted to during our visits once a year, when I'd had to make due with chaste kisses, the kind one might bestow on their great-aunt Tessie...soulless pecks on the lips that were an insult really when you took into account how much you loved the woman that you were smooching.

I heard her gasp as I tasted her, swirling my tongue into her mouth and taking my time as I kissed her blind and breathless. Her fingers were clinging to my back, digging into the muscles, and the feel of her nails clutching at my flesh raised the bar on my lust, which was already damn near to being off the charts as it was.

I told myself to be gentle while undressing her, but the message kept getting returned back to the sender. I grasped the front of her shirt, thankful for the fact that it was snaps as opposed to buttons that kept her hidden from me, thus making it much easier for me to tear it off of her body.

The bra was a little bit more difficult, but I managed to get it off in record time as well, finally freeing those sweet titties of hers. It was as though it was my first time to see bare breasts, and I couldn't think of anything else at that moment that had ever looked prettier to me than those rosy nipples of hers as a breeze drifted over them, puckering the flesh.

I cupped my hand beneath one breast and latched my mouth onto the nipple, sucking on it and swirling my tongue around its peak, chuckling as Violet stiffened for a moment, and then arched herself against me, rubbing that warm softness that rested between her thighs against my hardened flesh. I moved from the one nipple to the other, my hand stealing down to clutch her through her pants, reacquainting myself with her, the feel of the dampness seeping through her panties into the crotch of her jeans a fond homecoming for me.

I had hoped to prolong this moment for us, our first time together in five long years, but need had taken over the priority of savoring every moment, and I tore at my own shirt, throwing it aside and groaning as she wriggled beneath me to latch her mouth onto my nipple. I was able to withstand that sweet torment for a few moments and then I was fumbling with the closures on her pants, loosening them after I forced myself to calm down a little and removed them quickly, along with her dampened panties, and threw them in the same direction that I'd tossed my shirt.

It was fortunate that the grass was thick and hopefully soft beneath her. I didn't want her to be uncomfortable, but I also couldn't stop at that moment. It was also lucky for me that there was a fence all around the yard that afforded us some privacy, because I wanted her right then, right there, and didn't want to interrupt the moment by carrying her into the house.

The last barrier between us was my pants and I solved that problem quickly, pushing them down until they were out of my way, and then I kissed my Dainty once more, my hand sliding between her legs just as it had done so many times before, my finger gliding into the wetness that had collected for me.

Her magic little button was engorged, a testament to her arousal, and I brushed my fingertip across it, stopping to gently rub it until Violet was whimpering, thrashing around beneath me, and not stopping until she was muffling her scream of release against my shoulder. I knew that my performance during the main event would more than likely end before I would prefer it to, so I was determined to give her at least one orgasm beforehand, and had succeeded in that endeavor.

It would have been the gentlemanly thing to prolong the foreplay, but I wasn't exactly back to that state of mind just yet, and I also knew that it would be the preferable action to encase myself in a prophylactic safety device, but to hell with that. I had waited five years for this moment, and I'd be damned if there was going to be any kind of barricades between me and that sweet warm silkiness that was waiting for me between my Dainty's thighs. I had also had some time to think on things while I was locked away, and had decided that there was a very important question that I needed to ask my baby girl, when the time was right, and the idea of rug rats had ceased to be quite as frightening as they were at one time, in fact they now seemed to be an important piece of the puzzle. Who would have ever thought that a guy like me would long for domestic bliss, huh?

"Jack, are you okay?"

Her question made me aware that I'd just stopped what I was doing while I was thinking, and I hoped that she wasn't misreading that as hesitance or uncertainty. "Yeah, baby," I answered, leaning down to kiss her. "I'm better than ever."

I was trembling as I placed the head of my cock against her center, feeling for just a moment like this was my first time, I was that nervous, but the sensation passed by quickly, thank God, and I rubbed myself against her, collecting a liberal amount of the dew that had formed within her and had flowed outward to bead along the edge of her swollen lips.

I had to bite down hard on my lip to keep myself under control as I started to slip inside of her warmth. I hadn't forgotten how she felt wrapped around me, how tight and how soft she was, but it had been a rare occasion when I'd visited her without a rubber barrier separating our flesh from one another, therefore it seemed like it was the first time that I'd ever been there.

I noticed that she was wincing and holding her breath as I slipped further inside of her, and it dawned on me that it was uncomfortable for her, and realized that she probably felt kind of virginal as well, after five years of celibacy. "Are you going to be alright, Dainty?" I whispered, hoping that she would say yes so that I could continue, and felt guilty for acting so selfishly.

"I'll be fine, Sweetie," she answered, twining her legs around my waist. "Please, don't stop."

That would have been nearly impossible for me, at that point, and I continued to slide into her, not stopping until I was sheathed to the hilt. She still look like she was in pain though, and I tried to be gentle as I began to move, gritting my teeth and biting down hard on my lip as I moved within her, again and again, reaching my hands beneath her body to take her ass into my hands as I quickened my pace.

That had the effect that I'd been hoping for, the rearrangement of her body so that I was hitting the sweet spots with each thrust, and it wasn't long before her eyes lost that pained look and took on her arousal, her growing need for release showing through to me as I pounded into her.

I could feel that she was almost there, seconds away from the moment, and I struggled with control over my own raging need, intent on the task at hand, and my self-control paid off as those eyes that had been pleading with me lost their focus, her hands gripping my back, nails biting deep into my flesh, her heels gripped against the back of my thighs as her climax seized control of her.

I held on long enough to witness each wave that hit her, long enough to muffle her screams, long enough to tell her that I loved her before my own moment arrived, and then she was the one watching me, quieting me, saying that she loved me. It had been amazing, just as I had known it would be, and I lay on top of her, savoring the feel of her body where I'd wanted it to be for so long, knowing that I was making it difficult for her to breathe, but not finding the strength to move either.

We lost ourselves in kissing one another, you know, those long, soft post-orgasm kisses that make the final shivers and tingles course through you. I was real comfortable there, content to lay there for hours, but all of the sudden I felt something very cold, and very wet touch my calf, followed by something wet and warm.

I turned around to see one puppy, followed closely by the other, staring at my calf in a manner that said that the calf was only their first stop, and considering the fact that I was bare-assed naked, I wasn't keen on waiting around to see what they'd lick next. I'll admit that I have a somewhat depraved mind, but I drew the line at bestiality...it's just not my cup of tea.

Violet raised herself up on her elbows to see what I was looking at and giggled when she saw the furry duo. "That one just licked me," I said. "She waited until I was distracted and had let my guard down and then she licked me."

"Oh Jack, don't be so silly," she answered, continuing to giggle at me. "That just means that she likes you."

Well, Dainty wasn't going to be any help whatsoever, but thankfully Tootsie came to my rescue, gathering both pups by their collars to lead them back over to the other side of the house. I would have been willing to swear that the look she gave me at that moment was one of apology, and I decided that she could use a good scratching behind her ears later on.

It was so good to be home, to be back where I belonged, and I wondered if it was humanly possible for a man to be happier in his life then I was at that moment.

Five Years Later

They were exploring in the backyard, looking for hidden treasure. The father had drawn a map, complete with an X to mark the burial site, but he had left it in the pocket of his pants and it had become a victim of the elements that were found within a washing machine. He had reassured the children that it would be just fine, that he had a photographic memory, and besides which, it wasn't buried treasure if you didn't have to dig around in several spots to find it.

Owen was three years old, and a spitting image of his daddy. He crouched on the ground, his tongue curling out of the side of his mouth as he struggled to stick his tiny trowel into the ground, certain that the perfect hiding place for hidden booty would be in his mother's flower garden. His father should have stopped him from this task, but his daddy was too concentrated on his own digging to pay any attention to the boy.

Lily was three years old as well, and though she'd shared a womb with her brother for nine months, and was seven minutes younger than him, she had nearly nothing in common with him, and seemed to think that it was her duty in life to tell him exactly what to do, where he should do it, and what would be the ideal moment for him to carry through with her demands. It was uncanny to the father just how much his little girl resembled her mother, including a temper that was downright scary when provoked.

"Momma's gonna hit the roof when she sees what you've done, you little brat," she said to her brother, her sh's sounding like th's.

"Don't call me a brat, you boogerhead," her brother answered, catching the attention of his father and of the three pooches who made it their priority to watch over the family.

The father stepped between the children right before fists flew, and was aided by the dogs Taboo and Jinx, each taking hold of the seats of one child's pants and dragging them away while Tootsie softly chuffed her disapproval to each of them.

"Thanks, girls," the father said, kneeling between his children and affording them each the sternest look that he was capable of producing, which was actually pretty weak. He hated to chastise his babies, and he would have rather slit his own throat than to lay a hand on them in any way other than loving. But he was a good enough father to know that there had to be rules, although he was inclined to believe that his wife was a little too strict with them.

"What did Daddy say about calling people names?" he asked, placing an arm around each child.

"That it was naughty," his son answered. "That it was mean," his daughter said.

"It's both of those things," their father answered, leaning up to kiss them each on the cheek. "Little Man, try to avoid your momma's flowers okay? She works really hard to keep them pretty. And you Snuggle Bug," he said, addressing his little girl. "Try not to be so bossy, okay? You were right about keeping Brother out of the flowers, but you should bring it to me in the future."

They both nodded and gave him a hug, before running off to play with their doggies. They were good kids, damn good kids. He shielded his eyes from the sun and turned to see his Dainty watching him with a smile on her face, her hand rubbing over the tiny swell beneath her shirt. There was going to be another mouth to feed, and they had long ago outgrown their tiny house, but that didn't concern him. Life was good, bound to get better, and he couldn't ask for anything more.

The End


End file.
